


You Get What You Need

by castielsdemons



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Bottom Castiel, Bottom Dean, Bullying, Drama, Drama & Romance, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-01
Updated: 2015-01-31
Packaged: 2018-02-07 01:03:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 54,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1879143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielsdemons/pseuds/castielsdemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is summoned to meet their soulmate the year they turn eighteen. This is how Castiel learns that Dean is his supposed life-long companion. There's just one problem: Cas and Dean hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something He Said

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes:  
> 1\. Title may or may not have been inspired by the Rolling Stones' "You Can't Always Get What You Want" (spoiler alert: it was). You can listen to the song [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OagFIQMs1tw).  
> 2\. All mistakes are my own. If you find any, leave a comment and I'll fix it.  
> 3\. If you want to contact me in any other way, go to my [askbox](http://cutepeggy.tumblr.com/ask) on tumblr and ask for Andie.  
> 4\. Expect another chapter soon. I'm just making this up as I go along because it grew too long to be a oneshot, but I have a little bit planned out. Let's hope this goes well.  
> 5\. Chapter title inspiration = [Something She Said](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e8zK0S0aV9E), by Civil Twilight.  
> 6\. Thanks so much for reading, lovelies!

_I saw her today at the reception,_  
 _A glass of wine in her hand._  
 _I knew she was gonna meet her connection;_  
 _At her feet was a footloose man._  
 _You can't always get what you want..._  
 _But if you try sometimes, well, you might find_  
 _You get what you need._

\---

**PART ONE**

\---

The waiting room is stark white and scrubbed clean within an inch of its life. Castiel feels supremely uncomfortable and out of place as he taps his fingers restlessly on his knees, waiting for the official to show up and take him to the meeting room.

He fiddles with his hands, shifting nervously in the hard wooden chair in the waiting room of the government facility. The only other person in the room with him is the receptionist, sitting resolutely at her desk, papers scattered around her and a steaming cup of coffee by her hand that she takes a sip from every so often. She glances over at him, flashing a reassuring smile. It does nothing for his nerves.

He's going to meet his soulmate today.

It's the only clear thought in his head. The usual jumbled mess of his brain has been swept away. He wants, above all, to just go home.

 _You'll be fine, Castiel_ , says the voice in his head, which sounds surprisingly like his best friend Charlie, who drove him here. If that's not a good sign, he doesn't know what is.

He runs his hands anxiously up and down his jean-clad thighs. He's beginning to regret wearing a sweater, because he's starting to feel drops of perspiration dotting his forehead. The lobby is empty except for the receptionist at the desk, who glances up from her paperwork to look at him.

"Nervous?" she inquires kindly. The name tag on her blazer reads 'Rachel'.

Castiel nods, swallowing. "Yes."

She smiles warmly at him. "Don't be. It's worth it, trust me."

He wants to believe her. Honestly, he does. But the risks of meeting your soulmate—falling in love, only to have them snatched away when they die, or have to leave, or whatever other circumstances—is the pain of it all worth it?

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. He knows it's kind of lame, but he wishes his mother was here. If there was anyone who could calm his nerves and know the right words to say, it was his mother.

Two kids his age walk out of the hallway to his right, both smiling shyly towards each other. Castiel's lip twitches upwards in the barest hint of a smile. Naive.

"Castiel Shurley?" asks a pleasant voice to his right. Castiel jumps in surprise, looking up to see a beaming woman, her hair tied up in a bun and dressed professionally.

"That's me," Castiel replies, smiling back at her. It feels a bit forced, seeing as he wants nothing more than to pass out on the floor.

"Come with me," she says, not noting his discomfort. She turns and walks down the hall, her heels clacking on the tile floor. Castiel follows, wiping his sweaty palms on the rough denim of his jeans.

She leads him into an elevator and presses the button cheerfully, looking ahead with polite disinterest in her guest. Castiel doesn't try to make any conversation, and she seems to not care either way. When they reach their floor, the elevators open with a pleasant ding. He lets the woman lead the way down the hallway.

His breathing takes on a quicker pace because holy shit _this is it_ , he's going to meet them, and this is who he's going to spend the rest of his life with, and then she's pushing the door open and Castiel sees him and oh, _hell_ no.

Castiel can't help but feel his stomach drop. Sitting at the table, dressed in his usual leather jacket and blue jeans, is Dean Winchester.

If Castiel hadn't felt sick before, he's _definitely_ sick now.

"Castiel?" Dean pushes himself up from the chair, looking slightly confused.

The woman looks pleasantly surprised. "Oh, so you know each other?"

Castiel looks at the man standing in front of him. "Oh, yes, we know each other." His tone sounds more neutral than anything, and he's glad for that.

"Well, that's wonderful." She seems to not notice the scared-little-boy look on Dean's face, the detached flatness in Castiel's voice. "I'll leave you two alone, then."

Hurriedly, she leaves the room. Dean never looks away from Castiel, who is staring at the woman's back as she closes the door behind her.

Dean and Castiel have known each other since middle school. They met, became instant best friends—they became inseparable. But as time wore on, they grew up and then grew apart—or, at least, that's what Castiel wants to believe. He's tried to convince himself that Dean's departure from Cas' life was just the standard growing-apart-of-friendships and not because Dean was embarrassed to be near Castiel, like pretty much everyone else.

"So," Dean says awkwardly. "You and me, huh?"

Castiel turns his gaze to his companion. "Yes," he says slowly, voice deadpan. "Me and you."

Dean swallows, averting his eyes sheepishly like a schoolboy caught in the act. "Cas, I know we've got a few wrinkles in our past, but—"

"It's nothing that can't be taken care of," Castiel says bluntly. His eyes slide over Dean's appearance. He's changed a lot since sophomore year—he's taller, hair shorter, lines more pronounced between his eyebrows. "Later, of course."

"Oh, of course." There’s a hostile edge to Dean’s voice that Castiel tries to pretend he didn’t hear—tries and ultimately fails.

He knows Dean doesn't like him. He made that very clear. Castiel sighs. This would be so much easier if they were strangers. They're teenagers for God's sake, they shouldn't have to deal with this shit. "I know that you dislike me, Dean, and I'm sure you have your reasons for that—"

"I never said I disliked you," Dean says, annoyingly cutting Castiel off.

Castiel cocks his head to the side. "If I remember correctly, you thought it best that we were not affiliated anymore. Forgive me, but I took that as a sign you did not want me around anymore."

Dean rubs the back of his neck, looking away.

"Though, again if I remember correctly, it was a very one-sided conversation." He chuckles at that, but it's not a very funny joke to either of them. He can't imagine why he said that, and winces at the look of guilt on Dean's face. "You wanted to leave and I—all I've been doing is trying to respect your wishes," he continues.

Christ, why is he still talking? He hopes to God that Dean didn't hear the crack in his voice. He clears his throat, trying to recover. "It… It doesn't matter, anymore."

There's an infinite moment in which Dean just stares, opening his mouth and shutting it. Opening it again. "Cas, I…"

Castiel stiffens at the old nickname, old repressed emotions rising once again to the surface. "No," he says curtly, cutting him off. "Forget it."

\---

 

> **FIVE YEARS AGO**

_Castiel took a shortcut through the baseball field that day. Having rained earlier, he constantly found himself slipping on the smooth blades of grass, or having to pull his shoe free from where it had been sucked into the sloppy mud underneath. Perhaps it was dangerous to be out in the open like this with no one else around, but Castiel liked watching the baseball players—even if Alastair had it out for him. It wasn't his fault that the team captain had a personal vendetta against anyone with a strange name and dorky glasses._

_Castiel sensed the boys behind him before he actually heard them. He tucked his head down, chin against the hollow of his throat, staring at his own shoes as he walked._

_"Hey!"_

_He walked faster._

_"Hey, Shurley!"_

_Castiel stopped. God, he just wanted to be left alone. Why did that warrant a personal grudge against him? He didn't understand why being different required all the bullies and the taunting that went along with it._

_He turned around, facing his tormentors. Alastair, Brady, and Jackson all stood there. He sent a small prayer to whoever was listening that someone would see them, or that if Castiel showed disinterest in them that they would realize that their beatings weren't giving the desired effect._

_"What do you want, Alastair?" Castiel sighed, annoyed. Maybe that wasn't the best move. If anything, Castiel's indifference made Alastair angrier._

_"Well, sorry to take up your time, Shurley," Alastair said, sneering. "Just wanted to talk a little, that's all."_

_Alastair was a year older than Castiel (as he was held back a year for poor grades), and much bigger. It was possible that Castiel could outrun them, but then again, running from a fight would only be something that would urge them to keep taunting him._

_"Is this talk going to be anything like the talk you gave me last week, or—?"_

_Castiel was on the ground before he could even register what was happening, Alastair looking down at him._

_"Christ, Shurley, you really ought to learn some manners," Alastair said, the condescending tone sounding like metal scraping on metal in his ears. It made Castiel grit his teeth and try to sit up, but Alastair stomped a foot down on his chest, pushing him into the damp grass, air forcing itself out of his lungs._

_Castiel felt a foot connect itself with his shin. He guessed it was Brady. He grit his teeth harder and didn't say anything and braced himself for the real horror._

_It was sort of like a living hell. He knew that he couldn't fight back because three against one were just unfavorable odds—but he also knew that not fighting back would only make this last longer. He was stuck._

_"Come on,_ Castiel _," Alastair taunted, spitting his name out like it was some kind of dirty word. "Get up and fight. Make your mother proud. Oh, wait."_

 _That was it; that was the last straw. Castiel lashed up, grabbing Alastair’s ankle mid-kick and pushing backwards with all the force that he could muster so that Alastair lost his balance. He_ _landed on his back, air audibly whooshing out of his lungs. Brady and Jackson jumped and grabbed Castiel’s arms and held them down while Castiel struggled against them. It took a few moments for the shock wear off and Alastair to realize that Castiel was finally trying to fight back._

_Alastair groaned and sat up. "I am going to beat the shit out of you," he promised, standing up._

_"Fuck you," Castiel spat._

_Castiel heard another set of footsteps approaching just as Castiel calculated just how much it would cost his father if Alastair broke all the fingers in his hand. It was nothing they couldn't handle, he had decided._

_"Hey, guys," a new voice said. "C'mon, stop."_

_Alastair scoffed. "Yeah, right, Winchester. I'll just—ow!"_

_Castiel felt Alastair’s weight suddenly absent; his arms were soon free as well._

_He heard a scuffle before he could finally hear a few pairs of retreating footsteps, hoping that Alastair was among them. Castiel opened his eyes, realizing he had screwed them shut._

_From his sideways view, he could see another boy running a hand through his short blondish-brownish hair, slightly sweaty. He huffs a breath, which condensed in the cool autumn air. He turned his gaze to Castiel, who poked his head up hopefully. He recognized the boy as one of the members on their school's baseball team and as one of the boys he shared his English class with. He instantly felt a pang of sadness. It's one thing to be beaten up by the assholes that no one like but are too afraid of to stop, but to be beaten up by a person that most of his classmates respect? That was almost like he deserved the pain he received._

_"C'mon, get up," the boy said gruffly._

_The boy offered him a hand. Instinctively, he winced, which made the stranger snatch his hand away like he'd just touched something hot, a few seconds of silence passing between them._

_"If you’re going to hurt me, I suggest you do it quickly," Castiel said finally when the boy made no advance towards him. "I have a lot of sulking in my room to catch up on."_

_The boy’s mouth twitched upwards for a fraction of a second, barely a smile. "I’m not gonna hurt you," he promised firmly._

_Castiel stared. "Why not?"_

_The boy stared back, confused. "Why should I?"_

_A few seconds passed. The boy offered his hand again, which Castiel took, warily. The boy wasn't stocky or just plain big like Alastair and his goons, but obviously harbored some hidden strength._

_"You alright?"_

_"Physically, yes," Castiel said, examining the bruises blooming across his arms where Brady and Jackson had held him down. "Emotionally, there may be some complications."_

_The boys lips turned up at the corner, slightly. "Why do you talk like that?"_

_Castiel's eyes narrowed, squinting. "What do you mean?"_

_"All… I dunno. With those big words." The stranger looked curiously at him, smiling in earnest now._

_"I feel that a larger vocabulary helps me express how I feel more accurately." Castiel cocked his head to one side. "Do you wish for me to stop?"_

_"No, it's just different." The boy shuffled his shoes in the dirt. "What's your name?"_

_Castiel hesitated, suddenly nervous. His name was always a sore spot for him. "It’s… Castiel. Castiel Shurley."_

_"Whoa, like the author," the boy said. "Chuck Shurley," he elaborated._

_Castiel chuckled. "Yes, very much like the author." He hesitated before adding, "He’s my father."_

_"Whoa, what?" the boy exclaimed. "Seriously?"_

_Castiel laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm. "Yes, seriously."_

_The boy shook his head, smiling. "Think you could get me an autograph?" Castiel cocked an eyebrow at his eagerness. "Kidding, I'm kidding._ _So, Castiel," he said. The name sounded like poetry in his voice. "Castiel. Cool name."_

_"Thanks, I got it for my birthday," Castiel deadpanned, and the boy barked a laugh._

_Castiel smiled, picking at a new hole in his sweater. When he realized he was blushing, he quickly directed his attention to his shoes._

_"Walk with me," the boy said, clapping a hand on Castiel's shoulder and pointing him in the direction that he had recently been walking._

_It's quiet for a long time, but neither are uncomfortable. Castiel sneaked a glance at his companion._

_"Thank you," Castiel said finally, worrying at his bottom lip with his teeth. "For…"_

_"Don't worry about it, Cas." He could hear the smile in his voice, which makes Cas smile in response._

_"What's your name?"_

_The boy stopped them walking and thrust a hand towards Castiel to shake. He took it tentatively._

_"Dean Winchester," he smiled._

\---

He makes it to the lobby and passes the receptionist without so much as a wave. She offers an aborted farewell, which Castiel barely hears before he's pushing past the glass doors and making his way to the car, where Kevin and Charlie are waiting for him. For moral support, Charlie had said, but Castiel knows that she just wanted the details.

Castiel slides in, slamming the door to the car in the process. Charlie jumps in the seat beside him, dropping the book she was reading. A glimpse at the cover tells him that she’s reading _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_. Again.

She looks over at him, confused. "Castiel?" she prompts.

"Please, just take me home."

"How was it?" she asks, a little ruffled as she turns the keys in the ignition and puts the car into gear. " _Who_ was it?" She wiggles her eyebrows at him.

Castiel scrunches his nose. "Dean Winchester."

Charlie turns around to see behind as she puts the car in reverse; she doesn't answer. Maybe she doesn't know how to.

In the backseat, Kevin leans forward, putting his head in the space between the passenger seat and the driver's seat. "That dude on the baseball team?"

"Yes," Castiel answers. He wants to say that Dean Winchester is, in general, a player—he was notorious for taking home the other team's cheerleaders—but instead just pinches the bridge of his nose. He can feel the beginnings of a headache starting to arise behind his eyes.

This is a disaster; there’s too much baggage. He would have been more content with meeting a complete stranger than he would have meeting Dean.

"Didn't you two used to be…?" Kevin starts. Being a sophomore while Castiel and Charlie were seniors, Kevin doesn't know all the history.

"Yes," Castiel says again.

"Emphasis on 'used to be,'" Charlie adds.

"What happened?" Kevin asks.

Castiel just shrugs, tilting his head back against the leather headrest of his seat. He figures he'll let Charlie take this one.


	2. When the Levee Breaks

They drop Kevin off, who gives a half-hearted wave as they drive away.

Charlie remains uncharacteristically silent. In fact, she hasn't said a word since she asked Castiel who his soulmate is. It makes Castiel uncomfortable, and finally he gives up when she doesn't tell him what's the matter.

"What's wrong?" Castiel asks finally.

She shrugs. "It's just," she starts, and then falters. She seems frustrated, tightening and loosening her grip on the steering wheel. "I don't know, Cas. Have you ever thought of giving Dean a second chance?"

Castiel stares. "I'm not one for second chances," he says neutrally.

"I know, Cas, but… maybe you should make an exception for him." She glances over at him worriedly. "You know?"

Cas cocks his head to the side. "What makes him different?"

Charlie snorts. "Well, first of all, he was your best friend once."

"Yeah, once," Cas says with disdain.

"Secondly," she continues, ignoring Cas' comment, "he's your soulmate, Cas."

He scoffs, and she glances knowingly at him. "You loved him, Castiel."

"Yeah, until he screwed himself over and expected me to bail him out," he snaps.

"You _did_ bail him out!" Charlie retorts. "And you were more than happy to! Don't pretend you're mad at him for _that_!"

Cas doesn't have a reprisal answer for that, because, quite honestly, she's right. It's what happened afterwards that pisses him off. They drive in silence again, almost reaching Castiel's house before she speaks again.

"I'm just." She stops, frustrated. She parks in front of Cas' house, and then starts rolling up her shirtsleeve. "I love Dorothy, okay?" she says, referring to her soulmate. She points to the tattoos on her arm, the five black dots connected by lines, except for two. "A lot. I barely knew her at school and then we were put in that room together, and I thought it would never work out, but… Castiel, you gotta give him a second chance. You won't regret it."

He stares at her. "I'll give him a second chance once he's earned it," he says stubbornly, unbuckling his seat belt and climbing out of the car. She drives off as soon as he closes the door.

He unlocks his front door, stepping inside the house. His dad is off on a signing tour; Cas has the house to himself. It's too big for two people, and it practically feels empty with only one.

He was sort of surprised that Charlie would show him her marks; often they were thought of as something you should keep hidden or at least reserved. To so blatantly present them to him was sort of shocking; even though Charlie is extroverted and just on the side of what Castiel would call "flamboyant", the marks are a direct view into her relationship with Dorothy. It's kind of unnerving. 

Castiel absently scratches at the marks under his sweater, an uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. Charlie's marks were perfect, unharmed. It just reminded him of the damage his own had taken.

Cas lumbers up the stairs to his room, pushing open the door and glancing around. Clothes are strewn across the floor, half-finished paintings shoved in a corner near the window, his bed unmade. The second-hand futon that he and Dean had hauled up there two years has a pile of books on one side, where Castiel often spends hours reading.

He empties his pockets, setting his wallet and his keys on his nightstand before flopping down on his bed, tucking his hands behind his head and staring at the ceiling.

His mind wanders.

\---

> **TWO YEARS AGO**

_Castiel woke up to hear the home phone ringing in the kitchen. He stumbled out of bed, trying to get there before it woke his father, who was, surprisingly, home that day._

_He groggily shuffled down the stairs, nearly tripping over his too-long pajama pant legs. He answered the phone without looking at the caller ID, yawning._

_"Hello?" he mumbled sleepily. He was too tired to be pissed off at the ungodliness of the hour._

_"Cas?" came Dean's voice from the other end. His voice was broken; he sounded on the verge of tears._

_"Dean?" Castiel immediately perked up at the sound of Dean's distraught voice. Dean barely ever cried, and when he did, he made it habit not to do it in front of Castiel. Something is seriously wrong. "Dean, are you alright?"_

_"I—yeah, yeah, I'm okay." He took a heavy breath. "I'm, um. Cas, I need your help. I didn't know who else to call."_

_"Where are you?" Castiel asked, grabbing his keys off the counter. "I'll come get you."_

_"I'm… I'm at the police station."_

_Castiel stopped dead in his tracks. The keys slipped from his grasp and clattered to the floor. The other end was dead silent._

_"What did you do?" he whispered._

_Dean took a shuddering breath. "Cas, I really screwed up."_

\---

It's Tuesday before the two speak again, and Castiel is sliding books from his locker for his next classes and replacing them with the books in his backpack. He's just about to stuff his history and calculus textbooks in when a broad shoulder bumps rather abruptly into him, sending his books to the floor. Castiel turns to see who it is, but he already knows.

"Oops," Alastair says, feigning regret, walking off down the hallway. "Sorry, Shurley."

Castiel clenches and unclenches his hands, slamming his locker shut and bending over to pick up the fallen books; two calloused hands have beat him to it.

He straightens up, blue eyes meeting green. "Dean," he acknowledges.

"Cas." He sounds equally stiff. He gently pushes the books into Castiel's chest, who takes them warily.

"Thank you," he says blankly.

Dean purses his lips together, almost a straight line. "On Saturday. What did you mean," he says slowly, contemplating, "about me leaving you?"

Cas raises an eyebrow. "Simply what I said. You remember the event, I am sure, unless your memory has been compromised."

"What?" He pulls his eyebrows together in confusion.

Castiel huffs a sigh in annoyance. "Dean, I must get to my next class. You can call me if you wish, my number hasn't changed."

He moves to step around Dean, but suddenly there's a hand circling his forearm, slamming him against the lockers. Castiel's head knocks against the locker hollowly, disorienting him for a second. Dean is leaning in before his vision can even settle, dangerously close. Castiel's breath catches in his throat, the proximity making him dizzy.

While he doesn't like Dean, he can't help but admit that he's sort of beautiful. It's terribly rude of him. And distracting.

"Listen to me, Cas." Dean's voice is low, almost like a growl, and Cas feels an involuntary shudder shake its way down his spine. "I was not the one who left, okay, _you_ were. I was gone, okay, but you were the one who didn't come back."

Okay, that's it, that's the line, and Dean's just crossed it.

"That is a _lie,_ Dean Winchester," Castiel whispers furiously. "You left _me_. You said you'd call. You asked for space, and I gave it to you, two years' worth of it."

Dean grits his teeth together, speaking in a low, secretive voice. "I was trying to get my distance."

"And I was trying not to get my ass handed to me." Castiel pulls his arm free of Dean's slack grip. "The only reason Alastair didn't try to attack me was because he knew I was under your watch. You want to know what happened when that wasn't true anymore?"

He lets the question hang in the air. Then he pushes Dean off him and strides purposefully away, feeling like there's a snake constricting his chest because he can't breathe, he can't breathe, he can't _breathe—_

"Cas, wait," Dean says weakly.

But he doesn't look back.

\---

Friday rolls around. As it is the week before winter break, Castiel had been studying night and day for his midterms. This is the first time he's had a second to relax since Saturday.

When Cas the opportunity, his afternoons following school often involve him stowing away in the school's art classroom.

He thinks that this is his favorite place in the world. The smell of paint, graphite, and new paper always makes him warm on the inside. The paint-stained tables and worn floors makes the room feel well-used and loved. The windows let in so much light that it's almost unnecessary for fluorescents, and the windows to the hallway show off the artists at work. It's more of a home to Castiel than his house ever has been.

It's the Friday before winter break, and the school is basically empty; Mr. Fitzgerald smiled and told him not to set the room on fire and to close the door when he's done, and then walked out, leaving the paints and pencils and canvases and paper at the mercy of Cas' imagination.

He gathers supplies from the cabinet. This is the last time he'll have access to this room before the New Year, and he wants to practice his still-life before he goes.

He's halfway through a painting of a stack of books when he realizes the shading is off and he needs to place his shadows more accordingly to the light source. Frustrated, he turns to change brushes when his attention is snagged by something in the window—or, rather, someone.

Dean's hand slides off the window carelessly and he strides away, out of sight.

Cas' dumbfoundedness is interrupted by his cell phone vibrating in his pocket. He fishes it out and sees Charlie's name in bright letters on the screen. He presses the green "answer" icon.

"Yeah?" Castiel asks distractedly, returning to the painting in front of him. He's vaguely considering painting over it and starting again.

"You coming or what?" Charlie gripes.

Cas stops. "Oh, crap, I forgot." He grabs the pile of paint brushes on the table and strides to the counter, running them under warmish water. "Yeah, yeah, I'll be there in ten."

"You better," she says. "Or I'm stealing your car and Kevin and I'll go."

" _Rude_ ," Castiel scolds, dumping the paintbrushes back in the cupboard.

He hears Charlie's laugh on the other end, smiles, and hangs up.

\---

Castiel, Kevin, and Charlie all walk into of the movie theater, chatting loudly. It's kind of a tradition between Charlie and Cas to see a movie to celebrate the first day of winter break that started back when they were seventh graders. This year, they've invited Kevin along and told him that the freshmen always bought the popcorn, which he definitely doesn't believe, and somehow manipulated Castiel into buying not only the popcorn, but the drinks and candy as well.

"You only like me for my money," Castiel says to Charlie, who is reaching over to grab a handful of popcorn as they make their way from the counter.

"No," she says defensively. "You also cook well."

Kevin starts laughing and Castiel fake pouts when a hard shoulder shoves him from behind. Cas nearly loses his balance, if Kevin hadn't grabbed him in time.

"Nice reflexes," Cas comments, standing himself upright.

"It comes from video games," Kevin replies.

"Hey, asshole!" Charlie calls after the offender. "What the hell was that about?"

The group stops and Alastair shoves his way through his crowd of slightly-more-civilized-than-gorillas friends. The whole lobby has fallen silent, watching the two groups with interested and prying eyes.

He locks eyes with Castiel and shrugs. "Tripped."

"Yeah, sure," Charlie says, but Castiel takes her shoulder, silently urging her to calm down.

"Let's just go," Castiel says quietly. "We can go to the other movie theater in Tiffany Plaza."

Charlie looks from Alastair to Castiel. "Fine," she mumbles.

"So that's it?" Alastair calls at their retreating backs. "Just gonna run? What happened to fighting, Castiel?"

Cas turns around, his level gaze burning holes into Alastair's skull. "Take your shot," Castiel says finally, holding out his arms.

Alastair grabs a fistful of Castiel's collar. For a second he just stares Cas down, and Cas stares coolly back. He knows Alastair's not going to do anything, not with all the people watching. Alastair is too close; Castiel can smell his breath, which reeks of alcohol, and it dawns on Castiel that Alastair's drunk; he probably was at a party or two before stopping here, which is a little weird, unless he was purposely _looking_ for Castiel.

The thought scares him a little.

"Tell your boyfriend to get the fuck out of my face," he says finally in a low voice. He releases Castiel, shoving him away with more force than necessary. "Or he'll be fucking sorry."

"Sir, you should—" squeaks a small blonde girl from behind the counter.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fucking leaving," Alastair growls.

And they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [When the Levee Breaks.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fOEQTJV_3-w)


	3. Fever

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few points:  
> 1\. You see those tags up there about the mentions of child abuse and underage drinking? Yeah, well, those come into play right now. Just a heads-up.   
> 2\. I'm really surprised at the feedback this is getting! I actually didn't expect this to get more than a few kudos... Thank you all so much, lovelies.  
> 3\. Chapter four should be up sooner rather than later.

"You okay?" Charlie asks softly, breaking the charged silence that had fallen between them. Cas hasn't spoken since the incident at the theater, remaining silent even while Charlie and Kevin had chatted avidly the entire way home. Now they were driving out of Kevin's neighborhood, trying to find their way back home in the dark.

Cas shakes his head. "I don't know." He sighs loudly. "Just a little pissed off, I guess. If he's still getting in trouble with Alastair, not much has really changed."

She looks at Cas, and then looks out the window. "I think something's different about him."

Cas nods. "Think what you like."

They ride, again, in silence. Cas wonders when everyone in his life had gotten so speechless.

They don't speak again until Charlie's saying goodbye and exiting the car.

\---

Sighing, Castiel runs a hand through his hair, lumbering up the stairs slowly to his room. The past week has drained Castiel physically and emotionally; he wants nothing more than to collapse on the bed in his room and sleep for fifteen hours.

The house is too big for two people. It always feels empty and unused, too echo-y and bare. Cas feels like he lives in a museum rather than an actual house, like if he touched something he'd break it. And when his father is not around—much like today—the place feels damn near unlivable. Castiel finds that he confines himself to his room, the only space in the house he feels comfortable in. The only space he feels okay to touch.

However, when he pushes the door open to his room, he finds that, actually, he is not alone.

"Dean, what the hell?"

Leaning back leisurely on the futon (which Dean had come to claim partial residence to when they were still good friends), Dean lolls his head to the side, catching sight of Castiel. A sloppy grin stretches his face. Something is very not right.

"Heeeeya, Cas," Dean says, and it strikes Castiel that Dean is drunk—like really, very drunk.

"Holy…" Castiel says, rushing to kneel in front of him. He grasps Dean's face in both of his hands, looking for any sort of physical damage. "Are you hurt?"

"Nah," Dean says nonchalantly.

"How'd you get in here?" Cas demands.

Dean pulls free of Cas' loose grasp, looking to the window, which was still slightly ajar, letting in a cold breeze.

"You came in through the _window_? What the hell have you been drinking?"

Dean exhales his breath in a raspberry as he starts to think. "It was beer at first, but I think it was the scotch that got me." He's silent for a moment, and then hysterical laughter bubbles from his lips in small bursts.

Seeing no physical damage to Dean, Castiel straightens up, sighing heavily. "Dean, why are you here?"

"Whaaat, can't I visit my ol' friend Castiel Shurley?" He takes Castiel's hand and pats it appreciatively.

"Dean, be serious."

Dean suddenly looks at Castiel, face devoid of emotions. "We need to talk." The deepness of his voice is exaggerated, his tone solemn and his eyes too sharp. Then he bursts out laughing.

Cas sighs. "About what?" His voice sounds weary and taut to his own ears.

"Sit sit sitsitsitsitsit," Dean says, grabbing Castiel's wrist and pulling him down on the futon with him. Cas lands rather ungracefully on his ass, listing precariously to the side before he's able to right himself. Dean takes the liberty of putting his head on Castiel's shoulder.

Dean doesn't say more. After three minutes of silence, Castiel starts to wonder if Dean's forgotten what he was going to say. "What did you want, Dean?" Castiel says, his tone biting.

"Wanted to see you," Dean mumbles, like it's some kind of secret, like he's some kind of scolded child, like he's going to be reprimanded for it. He fiddles with the strings on his sweatpants, pulls at the hem of his Pink Floyd t-shirt. Castiel notices that Dean's accent is more pronounced when he's drunk, and it makes him smile a little bit before he remembers that he's supposed to be angry.

"Why are you drunk, again?" Castiel asks.

Dean chuckles, grabbing a flask from his pocket and unscrewing the lid. "You know what this is called?"

Castiel grinds his teeth, annoyed. "A future in crippling alcoholism?"

"Liquid courage," Dean corrects, and takes a swig.

Castiel can almost hear the gears working sluggishly in Dean's head, trying to turn despite the fog of alcohol.

Finally, he speaks again. "I'm sorry," Dean says softly.

"For what?"

"For leaving you," he says matter-of-factly. "For letting Alastair hurt you."

Castiel stiffens. "How did you know about that?" he growls.

Dean audibly swallows. "I talked to Charlie."

"You talked to—?" He stops himself. Frustration wells up inside of him. Great. He doesn't want Dean's pity, he doesn't want _anyone's_ pity; he wants to handle it himself because it's his problem, and only his problem. Now Dean thinks he's delicate or weak or is something that needs to be protected—he's humiliated.

He runs a hand over his face, turning away so Dean can't see his expression. "Fuck," he curses.

"Cas, don't worry," Dean pleads. "Hear me out."

He swallows. This whole situation is screwed up and he hopes Dean has a terrible hangover in the morning. "Fine."

"I'm sorry, Cas," he says again. "I'm sorry I left you. I fucked up, I… I feel like shit for doin' it, Cas. I _do_ ," he insists when Castiel scoffs. He huffs an exasperated sigh. "You were my responsibility, and I let those assholes hurt you—"

Castiel laughs bitterly. "I am _not_ your responsibility."

"Yes, you are, Cas, you _are_ ," Dean presses. He's quiet for a moment. "I fucked up. I thought I was doin' good and I was just hurtin' you, and I didn't know how bad it'd gotten."

There's a beat of silence. Dean takes Castiel's wrist in his hand, drawing small circles with his thumb around the pulse. He pulls his arm away, to which Dean sighs.

"What do you want, Dean?" Castiel asks, again, quieter, shifting away.

"Want you."

"Okay." Castiel nods slowly, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "I guess you have me."

"No, don't understand," Dean slurs, shaking his head. "I want _you_."

Castiel shoves Dean off him, standing. How dare he say that, how _dare_ he—Castiel's having a hard enough time dealing with this shit as it is, he doesn't need Dean pretending to be in love with him because he pities him, or he doesn't need Dean thinking he's in love with Cas just because he feels like he should be. He's the one who's been an asshole to him all week. Dean's the one who had to get _drunk_ to say these things.

"Cas?" Dean asks, worried. It hits him that he's been freaking out long enough for Dean to grow concerned.

Well, fuck his concern. "Don't," Castiel finally chokes out. "Don't say that again unless you're sober."

Dean clears his throat, uncomfortable. "Okay," he says reluctantly. "I will commit that to memory." He taps the flask to his temple.

"You need to go," Castiel decides.

"Cas," he says, standing shakily. "I'm sorry. And I want to be with you. Why don't you believe me?"

Cas sighs in frustration. "When you're sober—"

"Goddammit, Cas, I _know_ what I'm saying!" Dean snaps, throwing the flask to the floor in his frustration. "I'm sorry—I've _been_ sorry since the second I walked away from you in that hallway!"

"Why'd it take you this long to say it, then?"

"Cas, come on, I said I was sorry!" Dean pleads.

" _And I don't believe you_!" Castiel roars.

Dean snaps his mouth shut. He sits down hard on the couch, his gaze flicking from Cas to the floor and back again. Cas' breath is too loud for the quiet room. For a moment, only a moment, he contemplates the possibility of Dean and Cas' match being a mistake—maybe Dean isn't actually his soulmate. Maybe they're just a mistake. Maybe they don't belong together. He doesn't want a future relationship built on lies or drunken promises, he doesn't want to be angry at his supposed soulmate forever; hell, he isn't even sure if he wants a soulmate. What he does want is Dean out of here—now.

"I'm taking you home," Castiel says. "Right now."

Dean flails off of the couch in a panic, falling, undignified, onto the floor. When his head surfaces out of the pile of limbs and clothing, his eyes are wild.

"No," Dean says, frantic, crawling over to Castiel and grabbing his wrists. "No, please don't let him see me like this."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Castiel says, trying to pull his arms away from Dean, but his grip is like a vice.

"He's—he's already pissed at me, Cas, please." He either didn't hear or didn't understand what Castiel said, much to Castiel's annoyance. "Don't make me go back there tonight."

"Let go of me," Castiel demands, still trying to pull away.

"Please, Cas, he'll—God, Cas,  _please_."

"What are you even—oh." The realization washes over him with the gentleness of having your face dunked into a bucket of cold water. His voice immediately softens. "Oh, Dean."

Castiel had almost forgotten about John Winchester. How could he have forgotten about John Winchester? Castiel mentally slaps himself.

Dean was always hesitant to do anything about his father, and he insisted that his father rarely did raise a hand to him, but Dean was always wary of him when he was in a bad mood. It had always annoyed Cas to no end, and it scared him a little. Actually, it scared him a lot.

"I-I told him about the soulmate thing," Dean babbles. "He didn't really—he didn't really take to it. He's been a dick these past few days. That's what I got drunk, Cas, I just—I wanted to see you, I—shit, I'm sorry, I screwed up again, I fucked it up, I—"

"Dean," Castiel soothes, hauling the man on his knees to his feet. "Dean, Dean, it's okay. I won't make you go back."

Dean buries his face in Castiel's shoulder, much to the latter's surprise. He feels the shuddering breath that Dean sucks in through his teeth, tensing when he realizes that the pressure he feels on the small of his back is the gentle touch of Dean's fingers.

"Thank you," Dean mutters, quiet enough that Castiel nearly missed it.

Castiel brings up a hand to the base of Dean's skull, gently carding through the small hairs there. He almost snatches away his hand when he realizes what he's doing, but decides against it.

"You didn't fuck anything up, Dean," Castiel murmurs quietly. He chuckles to himself. "It was kind of already like that."

Dean chuckles with him, muttering a quiet "Yeah, I guess."

A few moments pass. Cas silently reprimands himself for doing this to Dean; he should have known better. 

"Cas, can I…?" He pulls away, his breath sweet and foul, blowing over Cas' lips in hot little puffs. The scent makes him dizzy, or maybe that's just Dean.

"Can you what? Oh." In the midst of Castiel's lightheaded-ness, he notices how Dean's eyes flick to his lips and back up to his eyes. "Uh, not while you're drunk."

Dean nods in acceptance and gives Castiel's arms a squeeze before pulling away and trying to maneuver back to the futon, but he trips over his own feet and lands half on the couch and half on the floor, and Castiel can't help it; he laughs.

"That was not your best moment," Castiel says, stepping over and gathering him up, gracefully shoving him up on the futon.

Cas sits down and Dean tiredly puts his head in Cas' lap, who panics about where to put his hands. When Dean's even, slow breaths tell Cas that he's already asleep, he reluctantly buries them in Dean's hair, carding lightly, until he finally maneuvers out from under him and slips out of the bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fever.](https://youtube.com/watch?v=iZZUY32iCzU)


	4. Let It Be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG, I THOUGHT I HAD IT OKAY AND THEN I STARTED EDITING THE CRAP OUT OF IT  
> AND GOD I'M SORRY

 

 

> **TWO YEARS AGO:**

_Cas ended the phone call and padded over to his father's bedroom._

_Castiel liked his father. He was very understanding but also very awkward; he didn't like intervening when it came to conflict. They had a respectful, if distant, relationship. It worked out fine for them on both of their behalves. However, with him being so absent, it was hard for Castiel to love him the way a child should love their parent._

_After a bit of shaking and a quiet exchange of words, Chuck Shurley threw the covers away from him and got up, stumbling blindly for his car keys. Maybe he was legitimately worried about Dean's well-being or maybe he was still too tired to actually care, but either way they were soon on their way to the police station, both desperately trying to warm their hands in the freezing car, their breath making small white clouds in the wintry air._

_\---_

_Castiel was waiting for Dean at the car, leaning against the passenger door. Chuck walked around to the driver's side and slid into the cold leather seat, not saying anything but huffing a sigh of exasperation. Dean was a few yards behind him._

_"Dean, are you alright?" Cas asked once he had walked close enough._

_"Yeah, I'm fine," he said indifferently._

_The reply wasn't good enough for Cas' taste. "What happened?"_

_"Nothing," he insisted._

_Cas did his best not to snort. "Obviously it wasn't nothing, Dean, if you got arrested for it."_

_Dean just scoffed and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, trying to spark a flame in the windy weather. He leaned nonchalantly against the car next to Cas._

_"You gonna elaborate?" Cas prompted patiently._

_"No, Cas, I'm not," Dean said. "I was arrested, I was at the police station, and now I'm gonna go home. Can you give me that?"_

_"What is with you?" Castiel wondered. Dean shot him a dirty look but didn't say anything. Finally, Castiel grabbed his upper arm and turned him around, roughly. "Dean."_

_"What do you want from me, Cas?" Dean growled around the unlit cigarette, pushing Cas' hand off of him._

_"I just want you to talk to me," Cas pressed. "Why won't you talk to me?"_

_"You know what? I don't fucking need this," Dean said, shaking his head. He started walking away, but Cas grabbed the sleeve of his coat and pulled him back. He opened the door to the back seat of the car, gesturing graciously for him to get in._

_"Let's go," Castiel ordered._

_"No," Dean said, tugging his arm away._

_Castiel ground his teeth together. "Don't be a child and get in the goddamn car."_

_"I'm walking," he bit coldly._

_Castiel slammed the car door shut. "Then I'm coming with you."_

_Thankfully, Dean didn't protest like Cas thought he would, but also didn't wait for him as he started walking at a brisk pace towards the sidewalk. Cas waved for his father to drive without him, and then half-jogged to catch up, stuffing his hands in his pockets to cut the chill._

_"Wanna tell me what this is all about?" Castiel asked. Dean didn't answer, just went back to trying to light the stupid cigarette. "Dean."_

_Again, he remained silent._

_"So, what? Are you suicidal? Or just stupid?" Cas snapped, snatching away the lighter. He lit the Zippo in one try, raising it to the smoke. He sensed Dean's annoyance. "How do you think your father's going to react, Dean, once he's learned where you've been all night?"_

_Dean took a long pull and exhaled a long sigh of smoke. "You don't know anything about me or my family, Cas."_

_"I know enough." Cas handed the lighter back to Dean, who pocketed it. "I know enough to know that your father's going to be pissed."_

_"You want to know what happened, Cas?" Dean snapped. "Dad drank too much this month and the disability check doesn't come in until the last Friday of the month. Sam's gotta eat, and so does mom and I. I played a few poker games to see if I could make some extra cash and I lost it all. Every cent. So I went to get some shit." He shakes his head, mostly to himself. "I got cusght stealing a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. Is that fucking pathetic or what?"_

_Dean's father wasn't exactly disabled; he was injured on the job years ago but still remained out of work and still collected checks. It wasn't a terrible way to make money, but it wasn't the income that a family of four needed, especially when it seemed that Dean's younger brother Sam appeared to grow out of his clothes every every few weeks. And with Mary only working part-time at the local diner, they usually only_ just _made their bills._

_"I was just trying to get something that'd tide us over until next Friday," Dean continued. "So you know what I think? I think he should stick it where the sun don't shine. Because me playing that poker game is more work than he's done in three years. At least I fucking tried."_

_"That's not going to stop him from being angry, Dean," Cas said. After a moment he added, "You know you could have just talked to me?"_

_"For what? Money, food?" Dean scoffed. "I won't take anything I can't pay back."_

_"Don't be a hero, Dean," Cas said in a warning tone._

_"Don't you fucking get it, Cas?" Dean snapped. "I'm not being a hero! I'm just being a fuck-up!"_

_The outburst startled Castiel. One, because it was just plain loud. And two, because it wasn't true. Dean was one of the most perfect people Castiel had ever met—handsome, funny, smart, kind-hearted… and he thinks he's a fuck-up?_

_"Do you really believe that?" Castiel asked seriously._

_Dean sighed heavily. "Believe what?"_

_"That you're a fuck-up."_

_He seemed confused at first, as if he was asked to answer a trick question because the solution seemed too obvious. "I—well, yeah."_

_"You're not. Making one mistake does not mean you're a fuck-up, Dean. It just means you fucked up. And besides, this was not your mess to clean."_

_"Well, no one else was going to fix it, so why not me?" Dean argued._

_"Because it wasn't your responsibility," Cas insisted, confused._

_"Well, it is now." He took a long pull from his cigarette, holding the smoke in for several seconds before exhaling._

_"It doesn't have to be just your burden, Dean."_

_"Sure," he said scornfully, "it doesn't have to be, but it always has been anyway."_

_"I'm serious," Castiel said, looking up at his best friend. "I am always willing to help."_

_"Yeah. Thanks, Cas." He sounded so sure that Cas was joking or lying, it pissed him off a lot—why was Dean so put upon not trusting him? Had they not been friends for years already? Was there a time where Cas had shown himself to be untrustworthy?_

_"Dean, I mean it." He grabbed Dean's arm and pulled them to a halt. "You didn't have to go and steal to feed Sam. If you had asked, I would have given you something. I'm your friend. I haven't let you down yet."_

_Dean's brow furrowed. "Thanks for the sentiment, Castiel. But I will take the five-finger discount over your_ pity _any day." He spat the word out like an insult, like a slur. Castiel was quite accustomed to the sound of insults being hurled at him, he knew when something was meant to be hurtful. And Dean was meaning to hurt._

_Well, Castiel could hurt right back._

_Cas' eyes hardened. "It wasn't meant to be_ pity _, Dean. I am not here to pity you. Unless, of course, it's bailing your ass out of jail."_

_Dean scrunched his nose in distaste."Fuck you," he growled._

_"Don't pretend I'm in the wrong, here, Dean Winchester," Castiel said, crossing his arms defiantly._

_"Yeah, well, fuck you," Dean said, as if he hadn't heard a word of Cas' recent statement. He threw the cigarette on the ground and snubbed it out with the toe of his boot. "I'm walking home by myself. See you later."_

_He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stalked away. Cas clenched and unclenched his fists angrily. So he drives here in the middle of the night because Dean called him from the police station, and Dean couldn't be bothered to say thank you? To listen?_

_"Next time you arrested, don't expect me to bail you out again, asshole!" Castiel yelled at Dean's retreating form. Dean flipped him off but continued walking, his shoulders bent against the wind._

_\---_

_Dean and Castiel avoided each other all weekend and most of the Monday they were back at school. Finally, Castiel caved and set off to find Dean at his locker after the last bell to apologize._

_He spotted Dean at his locker, retrieving books from his locker and slipping them into his backpack. He silently walked closer, not saying anything until he was close enough to speak in a low voice and be heard._

_"Dean?" Castiel prompted, approaching his locker. "I'm sorry about what I said Saturday."_

_Dean shut his locker solemnly, and with no hint of surprise on his face, as if he was expecting Cas and wish to put their meeting off. "Cas, we need to talk," Dean said seriously._

_Castiel's eyebrows pulled together. "What's wrong?"_

_"I think we ought to stop… hanging out," Dean said, as if struggling to find the right words._

_Castiel's eyebrows pulled together, squinting in confusion. "Was it something I did?" Castiel asked. "I'm sorry."_

_"It wasn't anything you did, Cas," Dean choked out. "This is all… this is all my problem. I gotta deal with it myself, okay? I just need some space for… for me to figure this shit out. I don't want to drag you into it."_

_"What if I told you I was okay with being dragged into it?" Castiel asked, suddenly aggressive. "What if I want to be dragged into it?"_

_"Except I'm not okay with you being dragged into it, and I don't want you to be dragged into it," Dean said. "I need to do this alone."_

_"So I don't get a say in it."_

_"No."_

_"And I'm just expected to go with your decision."_

_"... Pretty much, yeah."_

_The unfairness of it all hit Castiel like a punch to the stomach. This was just plain wrong—regardless of Castiel's romantic feelings towards Dean, Castiel would have never even thought of letting Dean slip away from him, especially if it was his fault. He wanted to make things right. He wanted to salvage whatever this was, to fix it._

_"That's bullshit," Castiel snarled. "That is bullshit. Relationships are two-sided, Dean, and I told you I was willing to help. I am still willing to help. I want to. Please let me."_

_Dean shook his head. "I've gotta do this on my own, okay? I can't… It's not you, if that's what you think."_

_For some reason Castiel didn't believe him. He's been too demanding, he's been too clingy, he's been such a jerk lately—that's why Dean wants to leave him. Isn't it?_

_"Cas," Dean said, and his voice sounded pained. He started to back away and Castiel panicked. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."_

_"Dean, don't…" Cas reached out and grabbed a handful of Dean's coat, holding on tight. Maybe his voice cracked, maybe it didn't. Maybe he just didn't care at this point. "Please, I'm sorry. Don't… don't…"_

_"I gotta go, Cas," Dean muttered, gently loosening Cas' hold on his jacket. "I'll call you, okay?"_


	5. Solsbury Hill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING** : teeth-rotting fluff ahead.  
> And also angst.  
> Oops.

Castiel has just finished pouring his tea when Dean appears in the doorway of the kitchen. He sets his mug down on the counter, watching Dean as he runs a hand through his hair and sighs heavily.

His hair disheveled, eyes half-lidded, legs still wobbly from disuse, Dean shuffles across the kitchen barefoot, sliding into a seat across from Cas at the breakfast bar. His cheeks slightly flushed, sunlight catching his hair and making it glow around him like a halo, some god-like and sleep-worn creature. In short, he's kind of beautiful.

That being said, his breath smells like something had crawled into his mouth and died.

"Jesus Christ, I am never drinking again," he groans, folding his arms and resting his head on his hands.

"Did you know," Castiel starts, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and sauntering over to the sink. He's decided to be nice to Dean considering how their conversation ended last night. "A hangover is basically not enough water in your system to complete your citric acid cycle. Which is why your mouth is so dry. Which also happens when you're extremely dehydrated. So, technically, you're dying of thirst." He fills the glass with water and sets it in front of Dean. "I suggest you drink this."

"Yes, thank you, Charles." Dean grabs the water glass and takes a sip.

Castiel stares blankly as he slides back onto his stool. "Who is 'Charles'?"

Dean stares back in disbelief. " _A Beautiful Mind_? Come on, Cas, really?"

Castiel wants to point out that Dean was mainly the source of Castiel's pop culture knowledge, but stops himself.

"Is your stomach okay?" Castiel asks, taking a sip of his tea, which he realizes he hasn't sweetened. He gropes blindly for the sugar bowl while trying the keep eye contact with his guest.

Dean notices what Castiel is doing and reaches over, grabbing the sugar bowl. "Yeah, I threw up in the bathroom before I came down," he says, his tone like he's talking about the weather. "Should be fine."

Castiel shakes his head as he plunks two sugar cubes into his tea. "Drink your water."

Dean pushes the glass away from him. "Coffee."

Castiel raises an eyebrow. "Think your stomach can handle it?"

"Give me the damn coffee."

He rolls his eyes. "Yes, Your Majesty."

Castiel gets up and grabs the bag of ground coffee from the pantry, humming to himself as he does so. He opens the coffee maker and stuffs a filter inside, scooping small piles of aromatic ground coffee on top.

"Not too strong," Dean directs.

"I know the damn drill," Castiel says, rolling his eyes again. "You are the backseat driver of breakfast foods."

"And proud of it," Dean says gruffly. They both wait silence while they watch the coffee maker whir and huff clouds of searing steam. When the coffee is finally finished, Cas shuts it off and pours a cup.

"No cream, just—"

"Two sugars," Cas interrupts. He glances up at Dean's stunned face. "I remember."

A surprised but comfortable silence falls between them. Cas is afraid for a second that they're having a moment or something ridiculous like that. He realizes this is the first civil conversation that he's had with Dean in two years. It almost makes him nostalgic.

He sits back down across the counter from Dean and slides the coffee mug across the table to Dean, who takes a sip and hums appreciatively.

"Mind if I take a shower?" Dean asks suddenly. "I feel gross."

"You _look_ gross," Castiel counters automatically, and Dean's eyebrows shoot up. Castiel's lip curls in the barest hint of a smile, unapologetic. He's surprised himself—but, more interestingly, he's surprised Dean, and the thought amuses him to no end.

Dean scoffs, recovering. " _You're_ one to talk. And I'll take that as a yes." He pushes himself away from the counter and hops off the stool, sauntering off to the bathroom.

"Towels are in the hallway closet," Castiel calls after him, pulling Dean's mug of coffee closer to him to take a sip. "Hey, and throw your clothes in the hamper and I'll get you some clean ones!"

"Will do. And leave my coffee alone!" he adds as a second thought. Castiel smiles sheepishly and sets the mug down, pushing it away.

While Dean's in the shower, Castiel goes and begins making breakfast, remembering that pancakes with blueberry syrup is a favorite of his. He hopes that Dean's stomach is settled enough so that he can eat; Cas doesn't mean to brag, but his pancakes are fucking amazing.

Castiel senses movement in his peripheral vision and looks up just in time to see Dean pitching his clothes outside the bathroom door. Castiel gets up with a sigh and grabs the clothing from the hallway, which reek of sweat and stale alcohol.

He raps on the bathroom door. "I said to put them in the hamper, not _near_ the hamper!" Cas calls.

"Okay, _mom_ ," Dean calls back. Cas hears the knobs on the shower squeak before the spray comes on.

\---

Castiel knocks lightly on the door after he hears the shower stop. The pancakes are on a plate in the kitchen, the silverware set out. Dean's clothes are in the washer downstairs to rid them of their pungent odor, and Castiel is holding a folded pair of sweatpants and an oversized sweatshirt which has their school logo on the front, though Castiel can’t really remember having much school pride, ever.

Dean opens the door a second later, a towel wrapped around his waist. There's steam fogging up mirror, beading up and rolling down the smooth glass in some places. Dean's hair is damp, sticking to his forehead like an errant cowlick.

"I threw your clothes from yesterday into the washer because they were disgusting," Castiel says matter-of-factly. He shoves the clean clothes into Dean's chest.

"Thanks," Dean says, starting to close the door when something catches Castiel's eye.

"Wait," Cas says, putting a hand on the door to keep it open.

"Hm?" Dean asks, and then notices how Cas is staring at his shoulder. "Oh, that's…"

Castiel's fingers graze over the bruise that blooms from Dean's collarbone and sweeps down to his sternum. Dean moves to cover it up with a hand, realizing too late that his fingers are bruised and his knuckles scabbed over.

Cas' next words are calm and quiet with barely controlled anger. "You said you weren't hurt last night."

Dean rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I, uh."

"What happened?" Castiel demands. "Was it your father?"

"What? No, _no_ ," Dean sputters. "No, it was nothing like that."

"Then what, Dean?" Castiel growls.

He hesitates, clenching and unclenching his jaw. "I got into a fight, alright?" Dean says defensively.

"With whom?"

Dean hesitates before answering, shifting on his feet, looking like a scolded child. "Alastair," he says.

Castiel stares. "Was this before or after you talked to Charlie?"

"Cas, I don't want to talk about this half-naked," Dean says curtly, turning away.

Castiel catches his shoulder, turning him back around. His skin is still slippery with shower water. "Answer the question."

"I don't—"

"Dean."

He stares for a long time, green eyes sharp. "After." He clenches his jaw again, scrunching his nose and looking away. "So what?"

"So what? Was it because…?"

"Because Charlie told me Alastair fucking—fucking _physically scarred_ you after I left? Because he—he fucking made it so you'll only wear long sleeves anymore?" He sounded partly hysterical, partly on the verge of tears. It confused Castiel to no end. "Yeah, maybe. So? What do you care?"

"What do _I_  care?" Castiel asks, almost offended. He snatches his hand away from Dean's shoulder like he'd touched a hot stove. "What do you mean, what do I care? You got hurt, of course I care."

"Well, I dunno, Cas, you haven't given a shit about me for the past two years, why should you start now?" Dean shoots back, shrugging his shoulders. "Old habits die hard, right?"

"I have always cared, Dean Winchester," Castiel answers. "I never stopped caring."

Dean huffs a bitter laugh, his eyes sharp. "You replaced me soon enough."

Castiel can't believe his ears. All he ever seems to do with Dean is fight with him, and Castiel's tired of it. He's tired of the yelling and the bitter accusations, the miscommunications and the guilty epiphanies. He just wants it to stop.

"Charlie was not a replacement." Castiel's chest feels tight with repressed anger, trying to keep his voice controlled. "She had been with us even before we went our separate ways. And you were the one that told me to leave you alone. You told me you'd come back, and you didn't. That is not my fault."

"I was trying to get my space!"

" _Why_?" Castiel suddenly bursts. It's the question he's been wanting to ask for two years and suddenly his cool and calm resolve flies straight out the window. "Because you were tired of me? Because you were embarrassed to be seen with me? Because I was a fucking loser that was going to destroy your social status?"

"What? No, of course not!" Dean shouts. "Why the hell would you think that?"

"Because that's what everyone else thought!" Castiel yells. "That's why everyone else left me—because I was a freak!"

"I didn't fucking leave you because of that!"

"Then why, Dean? You tell me to leave and then never call me back and you expect me to think there's not some underlying reason you're not telling me? What are you keeping from me? What are you so afraid to tell me?"

"Because you were too fucking good for me, goddammit!" Dean yells.

Cas stares dumbly at him, because _what_? "What do you…"

"I mean, look at you, Cas," Dean says, gesturing helplessly at Cas' figure. "You're rich. You're smart. You're funny. You're fucking nice. You're going to fucking _Yale_. On a _scholarship_."

Castiel cocked his head, confused. "What does that have to do with—"

"And I'm—" Dean scrubs a hand over his face, clearly distressed. "I used to lay all my problems on you, even though it was never your job to fix them. I'm not smart. I'm an asshole. Hell, you fucking bailed me out of jail, and I didn't even say 'hey, thanks.'"

Castiel softens considerably. "You didn't have to," he says gently.

"Yeah, I did, Cas," Dean counters. Cas can hear the regret, the sleepless nights Dean spent over this topic, just in his tone. "I should have."

Castiel's lips turn up in the barest hint of a smile. "Then say it now."

Dean huffs. "It wouldn't count," he says, sounding broken.

Castiel smiles for real now; small and sad. "I think that's my call to make."

For a moment, Dean looks like he's going to argue further. Then, "Thanks, Cas."

Of all the things that would make Cas give Dean a second chance, him getting drunk and breaking into his house definitely wasn't one of them. Or so he thought.

"It's okay," Cas finally says.

Dean sighs, not entirely buying it. "Will you let me get dressed now?"

"Wait," Castiel says, and catches his wrist before he can go. "Can we… can we start over? Everything, all the baggage—forgotten?"

Dean looks Cas up and down, contemplating, before he smiles and thrusts his hand out to shake. "Hi, the name's Dean Winchester."

Cas smiles and takes Dean's hand, shaking once. "Castiel Shurley, pleased to meet you."

"Whoa, like the author," Dean jokes.

Castiel laughs. "Very much like the author," he says, dropping Dean's hand.

Dean smiles but suddenly his face contorts, glancing around.

Castiel cocks his head to the side, worried. "Dean, what's wrong?"

He sniffs the air, inhaling deeply so that his nostrils flared. "Did you make… pancakes?"

Castiel laughs again. "Indeed."

"You are a _saint_ , Castiel Shurley," Dean calls, already walking off towards Cas' room to get dressed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Solsbury Hill.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGaqmvIEyaI)


	6. Mr. Jones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Please note the rating change. I'm changing it for future chapters, not this one specifically. *wiggles eyebrows*  
> 2\. This took a fucking long time to post. For that, I apologize.  
> 3\. School has started for me! Please keep that in mind.  
> 4\. Chapter two has been edited! Please reread it (mostly just until the memory) if you want this fic/chapter to make more sense.  
> 

It takes a few days to fall back into their old pattern, but when they do, it’s almost as if they never spent time apart at all.

Dean and Charlie argue over _Star Trek_. Kevin and Dean are introduced, and Dean teases him every chance he gets, because it’s a right of passage for seniors to tease the freshmen in Dean’s mind. They talk and laugh and sometimes Castiel gets lost in the way that Dean fits so perfectly with his friends, like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place. He never knew it was missing, but now that he’s here he can’t deny that the group finally feels complete.

Cas and Dean are inseparable. They’re with each other more often than not. Every Friday, Dean shows him a new movie, trying to make up for the lost time. The past two years fade into the distance, still there but not acknowledged.

It hurts that they spent so much time away from each other. It hurts that they grew up without each other. It hurts Castiel to know that Dean blames himself, and that he let his guilt bleed away into self-hatred.

But they don't talk about it.

Cas knows that they really probably should. He wants to make Dean feel better. He wants Dean to know that he never stopped being his best friend, that he didn't really mean what he said the night that he picked up Dean at the police station. He deserves to know. He owes Dean a hell of a lot more.

In the meantime, however, they sit together in companionable silence and watch _A Beautiful Mind_. Castiel can't say he didn’t enjoy it.

\---

Dean's newfound presence in his life is a constant reminder of how Dean knows what happened between him and Alastair. It hurts, obviously, and the only reason Charlie knows is because she found him there on the concrete, his head swimming as he struggled to breathe—

Castiel rolls up his sleeve, studying his marks.

There are five black dots about the size of pencil erasers. Everyone has them, except in some rare cases. They show up during puberty and remain with you for the rest of your life. It's the first time Castiel has looked at them willingly in almost a year.

The five dots are arranged in a number of ways and can appear on either arm. The chance that the patterns will be similar are quite small, and the chance that they are exact matches are nearly nonexistent. This is how soulmates are found: by matching the patterns up.

The lines that connect the dots appear slowly and over time after a number of events take place: first kiss, love admittance, binding ceremony and first time making love. Obviously these events sometimes happen in different orders. The last two events are interchangeable; while the first kiss will always be the first line, and love admittance will always be the second line, the binding ceremony can be either the third or fourth line, and the same goes for first time having sex. It's Mother Nature's own way of saying "I don't fucking care."

But the nature of humans is to take matters into their own hands. Some religions require that the events happened in a certain order. Centuries ago, an out-of-order bond tattoo meant public humiliation or even death, in some areas. Strict and painstakingly up-to-date marriage records were held to make sure everyone got married before having sex, or getting married before they said 'I love you' and the like. Hammurabi's Code called for the amputation of the arm if the tattoo was misordered. Until the nineties, you could be fined or even arrested for publicly flaunting your out-of-order bond tattoos. It was hard to get jobs until the lines between the gaps were filled in with some employers, so that no one could know the difference and give the benefit of the doubt. If any information was given otherwise, however, you could find your ass out on the street in a New York minute.

But, eventually, movements were made, laws were changed, and people celebrated victory. It didn’t stop all the discrimination right away; in fact, there are still some struggles with it. But there is progress.

The reason you meet your soulmate roughly at eighteen is because of your newly obtained adulthood; the government can’t legally withhold the information anymore. It’s withheld in the first place to focus on schoolwork and the lack of maturity. Having your perfect match around all the time can be… tempting.

Also because, before around the age of 25, the lines will only appear if you do those things with your actual soulmate. After 25, anyone left is fair game. Before the nineties, 99 percent of people didn't find or get married to their soulmate.

A bill was passed through legislation years ago to change some things; a designated meeting, an absolute match, and affordability.

When the dots start appearing, parents are obligated by law to take their child to get them checked out and photographed, and then are sent to god-knows-where to get them scanned and matched. Later, after the match is made, a meeting is set up, and with new technologies, people can meet even if they are overseas or speak different languages.

The technology has been around since the beginning of the seventies to match soulmates but prices were astronomical and the databases limited; only the highest of elites could afford to pay so much, and even then, it was a shot in the dark.

Obviously some soulmates have different age differences. In cases such as these you are given options: you could choose to a) know their name but not their location or appearance and be monitored at all times to not go researching for their location or to actually go looking for them or to b) wait until they turn eighteen to finally meet them.

For the sake of privacy and surprise, most choose the second option.

 

Castiel is surprised that his marks match Dean's so well; he must have seen Dean's marks dozens of times, and never once did they think to compare them. Never once did Castiel feel inclined that he was looking at the mark that he had so memorized on his own arm.

****However, Castiel's marks are slightly different than other people's; the skin is raised with scars, paled and ruined.

He shoves his sleeve down, unable to look at it any longer. Most teenagers wear only long sleeves after their lines appear until all the gaps have filled; those who blatantly show them off are sometimes considered rude and pompous. The marks are supposed to be sacred, a thing that's only shared between the two soulmates, their own little secret as to how far they've made it on their journey together.

Cas sighs. He doesn't want to think of it any more than necessary.

\---

> **THREE YEARS AGO:**

_Dean leaned over the DVD player, jabbing at it to make it work. Dean was many things, but he was not technology-savvy. He poked and prodded all the wrong buttons of the DVD player every Friday after school, didn't even glance at the instruction manual, and then was still surprised when it wouldn't work._

_Castiel sat behind him on the couch, watching him struggle. Dean had forced him to sit and relax several minutes ago and brushed off any attempt Castiel made to help him._

_Dean grumbled to himself as he turned the player off and on again for about the 700 th time. The picture still didn't change._

_Castiel knew what the problem was. Dean hadn't turned the TV to the right channel; he always forgot that step. Knowing how Dean would react if he told him the actual problem, Cas shifted silently in his spot, leaning forward and grabbing the remote off the coffee table, secretly turning the TV from "channel 3" to "video."_

_The picture suddenly changed to the home screen of_ Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark. _Cas set the remote back on the table without Dean's knowledge._

_Dean cackled in victory once he noticed it finally working. "See?" he crowed. "I told you I could do it."_

_"I never doubted you," Castiel said, smiling secretly to himself, helping himself to a handful of popcorn from the bowl on the coffee table._

_Dean snorted. "Yeah, sure."_

_They started the movie. Castiel was mildly intrigued, mostly in Marion’s ability to hold her liquor, when Dean’s phone vibrates. Instead of ignoring it like he usually would, he pulled it out and starts tapping out a reply._

_Castiel watched him with bemusement. "You make me watch this movie and now you're not even paying attention?" he teased. "I'm disappointed in you, Winchester."_

_"Don't get your panties in a twist, Shurley," Dean shot back, still focused on the phone. "It's just Cassie. She wants to go on a date this weekend."_

_"Oh," Castiel said, his stomach falling. "I didn't know you were dating."_

_Dean shrugs. "It's kinda a new thing," he said, setting his phone in his lap. "But I like her. She's pretty badass."_

_"Yeah, of course," Cas said, choking out the words around the lump in his throat. "Good for you."_

_Dean rolled his eyes. "I know, I know, you're not dating anyone because you're just gonna meet your soulmate in a few years and it's pointless." Dean stuffed his phone back into his pocket. "But at least I'll have experience when I meet 'em, though. Unlike you, prude." Dean wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Cas threw a handful of popcorn at Dean and snorted, hoping it sounded convincing._

_Contrary to what Dean thought was the problem, that wasn't what Castiel meant._

_What he meant was that suddenly it felt like there was an animal inside of Castiel, clawing at the confines of his rib cage. Anger rose in his throat, sour and stinging like bile._ _It scared him, a little bit. He pushed the feeling down as far as it would go, but he could still feel it there, simmering just below the surface._

_He wasn't an idiot. He saw this feeling for what it truly was: jealousy._

_But it wasn't just jealousy. He felt his heart shattering, cracking slowly and crumpling inside him. He felt like all the air had suddenly been pushed out of his lungs and he couldn't get a decent breath. He wanted to simultaneously be closer to Dean and run as far as he could away from him. He wanted Dean but at the same time didn't want anything to do with him._

_Could he possibly be… heartbroken?_

_But to be heartbroken he would first… he would first have to be…_

_He turned to look at Dean, smiling and laughing out loud even though he's probably seen this movie a hundred times. Dean grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth, trying to chew it all. He turned and caught Cas staring, grinning at him around a mouthful of popcorn, before turning back to watch Indiana Jones lament over the snakes in the pit._

_He realized it then._

_Castiel was totally and utterly fucked._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Mr. Jones.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LzSJV90EBE)


	7. One Headlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A message to my readers:
> 
> Obviously, I'm having a bit of trouble finding time to write this.  
> Part of the trouble was that I just didn't know what to write for this chapter. I knew what I wanted to eventually happen but I didn't know what I wanted for the in-between, and that was a problem I have finally resolved. The next few chapters _should_ (and I use that term very loosely) be out sooner than this one was. We'll see how it plays out.  
>  What I _do_ know is that this is all a first draft and that I'll probably be editing it quite a bit. I'll put a message on the chapters that I've edited for your convenience. This story will be devoid of typos, syntax mistakes, and a bunch of other dumb stuff like that. Get pumped, my friends.  
>  Despite my lack of time, I refuse to put this fic on hiatus. I actually write in it quite a bit, despite appearances. This could actually go well beyond 20,000 words, and I'm hoping y'all will have enough patience with me to see until that time.  
> Thank you for being so supportive and eager to read. It keeps me motivated. I appreciate each and every one of your kudos, bookmarks, and comments, and I am quite serious about that. (I may or may not brag to my friends about it.)
> 
> Love you all so much. Thanks for sticking with me.
> 
> -Your Dumb Author

Christmas is soon, and that means New Year’s is soon as well, and this year is Castiel’s turn to host the (albeit extremely lame) New Year’s Eve party for Cas’ circle of friends. There’s drinking, mostly from Charlie because Cas, while he can hold his liquor, doesn’t hold a taste for the cheap wine that they somehow get their hands on.

This year, however, there will be a few more added to the tradition: Dorothy will most definitely be there, as will Kevin. Cas also wants Dean to go, and grabs his phone to make the call.

Castiel prefers to text, but he knows that Dean prefers to talk rather than write, and it makes sense, in Castiel's mind, that Dean would like to hear a voice rather than read words on a screen. It was like how he preferred movies over books.

Not that it's a bad thing, that Dean likes movies more than books. Dean is very smart, opting for classic authors like Mark Twain and Kurt Vonnegut. Castiel finds it strange that Dean never realizes how smart he is, when he could probably take a car apart and put it back together in ten different ways that were more efficient than the original.

Cas shakes his head and dials the number. Dean picks up on the third ring.

" _Heya, Shurley,_ " he says upon answering. There was a dull roar somewhere beyond Dean's voice, in the background, the sound of voices and clinking glasses.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says in response.

" _One sec,_ " Dean says. After a few seconds the background noise falters, and he hears Dean's voice again. " _Sorry about that. I'm at work but they just put me on my break. Had to find a quieter room._   _So what's up?_ "

"I was wondering if you were going to do anything for New Year's Eve," Castiel asks.

" _Mm, probably not,_ " he says. " _Probably just go and swipe a bottle of champagne from a party that Meg Masters throws or something. Why?_ "

"Because Charlie, Kevin, Dorothy and I throw a pretty crazy four-person party, and I wanted to know if you wanted to turn it into a crazy five-person party," Cas says.

" _Sounds kinky,_ " he says suggestively, to which Cas snorts.

"You wish," Castiel says, smiling. "Not that kind of party, Winchester."

" _Damn_ ," Dean says, and Cas can hear the smile in his voice. " _What's the point of going then?_ "

Castiel rolls his eyes. "You have a one-track mind, don't you?"

" _Guilty as charged,_ " Dean admits. " _So, could I bring someone along with me or is this strictly a five-person party?_ "

"I don't care," he says nonchalantly. "The more the merrier. You could bring Sam along, if you so wish."

" _Oh…_ " Dean says, the sound almost like it's been punched out of him. He voice drops, mumbling. " _I don't think he'll be coming._ "

"Dean, are you alright?" Castiel asks, perking up at Dean's sudden change in tone.

It's quiet for a while, long enough that Castiel checks his phone to see if Dean hung up on him, but the call is still in progress. He's about to ask if Dean's still there when he speaks up again.

" _Mom left,_ " he whispers. " _And she took Sammy away._ "

"She what?" Castiel asks, unsure if he heard correctly.

" _Yeah._ "

"What—what happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

" _No, no, you're okay. Um, the night you picked me up from the police station. I went home and there was this big fight that they had, mom and dad… she'd, uh, she'd been planning to leave him for a long time, she'd told me that she had been thinking about it but wanted to wait until Sam was in college. I told her to just do it because Sam hated Dad anyway, and she finally did that night and took Sam with her. Dad didn't even fight for him, just… just let her._ "

It takes a second for Castiel to comprehend what Dean is saying. "Why didn't you go with her?" Castiel asks. "Didn't she offer?"

" _Oh, yeah. She… she offered, begged me to go with her. But I knew if I left him, he wouldn't make it. I've probably saved him from choking on his own vomit like, six times in two years._ "

"You didn't have to do that," Castiel says, confused.

" _Yeah, I did,_ " Dean says, like it's the most obvious thing. " _He's family._ "

"You of all people should know that your family isn't always your… your parents, and your siblings and uncles and aunts and cousins," Castiel says. He feels a twinge of disappointment that Dean hasn't already realized this.

" _But I—_ "

"They're your blood, Dean," Castiel interrupts, "but that doesn't mean they're your family. You gain your family. You find your family. Hell, maybe you even earn it, in the right circumstances." Cas shifts the phone from his left ear to his right. "You find your family and adopt it. And then you protect them and love them. You taught me that, actually."

It's quiet for a long time. Cas couldn't have possibly made Dean Winchester speechless, could he have?

" _I didn't know that I…_ "

Castiel smiles, a small thing that he knows Dean can't see but can't help. "You sell yourself short too often, Dean," he says softly. "So who are you planning on bringing?"

" _Oh, Jo Harvelle,_ " he says. Cas can tell that Dean is relieved at the change in topic.

Castiel's heart seizes at the idea of Dean bringing a date to New Year's, but then he reminds himself that Dean is his own person and can do whatever and whoever he likes. The thought doesn't do anything but anger the beast in his chest, however.

"I've never talked to her before," Castiel intones, keeping his voice neutral.

" _She's pretty cool,_ " he says, and Cas can hear the smile in his voice. " _You guys will get along great, Cas, I can tell._ "

Cas says he can't wait, and hangs up shortly thereafter.

\---

> ** ONE YEAR & EIGHT MONTHS AGO **

_There was an annoying beeping sound that wormed its way into Castiel's head before he was really even awake. It was constant and slow, predictable and irritating. Cas wondered if this was the afterlife, because he definitely couldn't be alive, and silently chided himself for not being more religious. Being named after an angel, however, may give him some pointers._

_He woke slowly, becoming more aware of his surroundings until finally he realized that he was not, in fact, dead, but at a hospital._

_Cas hated hospitals. Not because he was a germaphobe, or because of the sickening sterile smell, or blinding fluorescent lights and nothing to do all day but adjust your bed and watch daytime television—which was a sort of hell in itself—but because you either left the hospital within a reasonably short period of time or you died there, and after Castiel's mother he always figured the odds were not in his favor just by hereditary means._

_"What happened?" asked the voice to his left._

_Cas jumped and realized that there was an uncomfortable presence in his mouth—a tube down his throat, a dull ache in his arm that was just agitated by his sudden movements. Cas' eyebrows knit in confusion, grunting an incoherent response meant to be something along the lines of, "What the fuck?"_

_His visitor, Charlie Bradbury, rolled her eyes and nudged a pad of paper and a pencil towards him where it lay in from of him on his bed-table-tray thing. This made no sense. Charlie was part of his small circle of friends, sure, but he had only met her when he had made Dean's acquaintance. When Dean and Cas had split away from each other, Cas was sure he would be left friendless, especially because he and Charlie never talked much outside of Dean's company. They were, essentially, familiar strangers._

_Castiel tried to pick up the pencil but his left arm, the arm with his newly ruined marks, protested any movement, and he was left-handed. He tried to explain this to Charlie through a series of gestures and muffled "mm's," which ultimately fell flat. She raised an eyebrow in question but didn't seem to understand._

_He gave up and picked up the pencil with his right hand and began to write a sloppy response. It felt unnatural and alien in his non-dominant hand but it was the best he could do._

_He tore off the piece of paper and handed it to Charlie._

_"'I was jumped,'" she read out loud. "Your handwriting is terrible," she commented, and Cas just glared._

_"Also, I've never seen anyone get jumped and still keep all the contents in their wallet and the keys to their BMW," Charlie said, absolutely done with his shit. "Which is going to need new upholstery, by the way."_

_He realized he was trapped, so Castiel huffed a furious breath out of his nose, grabbing the pad of paper and scribbling another response._

_Charlie read this one silently, nodding in understanding. "Fucking bastard," she muttered to herself. "Call the police."_

_Castiel's eyes widened, and he wrote this next note with shaky hands._

_"'Just make things worse,'" Charlie read, and sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm just…"_

_Cas wrote down another note, and Charlie takes it._

_"Why am I here? Because I found you and drove you here."_

_Charlie didn't seem to understand. He didn't care if she drove him here—he wouldn't have blamed her if she had left him to bleed in the parking lot. Why was she still here? Why did she wait for him to wake up? He wrote as much down in the next note and handed it off to her._

_"'Why do you care, you're Dean's friend not mi—' is that what you think?" Charlie said, crumpling up the note in her fist, a little angry but also a little disappointed. "That I don't care because I knew Dean first?"_

_Castiel shrugged. It was what he assumed._

_"Dumbass," Charlie muttered. "When you get outta this place, you're coming over to my house and I'm kicking your ass at Call of Duty, capisce?"_

_Castiel stared, and then wrote down his response._

_"'I quote-unquote capisce,'" she read. She grinned at Cas, her smile hopeful. "We're gonna get along just great, Castiel."_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [One Headlight.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HFStDIxOX1s)


	8. Brother John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was writing a lot today, so I got another chapter out quite soon! Thank you all for getting me past 100 kudos!

Christmas Eve finds Castiel in a too-warm house with his relatives on the other side of the state. Cas can tell his father is counting down the minutes until they can go home, and Cas can't blame him, because he's doing that too.

His family berates him with questions about his soulmate, and he bends the truth a little (a lot) just for his own amusement. He makes Dean out to be a rebel/street rat who wears ratty jeans and listens to way too loud heavy metal music and gets in trouble on a daily basis, who already has several tattoos (one on his chest, two sleeves, one covering his entire back, and one on his ass), thinks college is a waste of money and everyone else in the world is a waste of time.

He also tells them that Dean has several piercings, and not all of them are on his face. He takes their looks of horror as his cue to leave, smiling at Gabriel, who's shaking with barely-contained laughter.

His phone vibrates in his pocket. He grabs it and sees that Dean is calling. Relieved, he starts for the door to get to somewhere more private.

He answers the phone and puts it to his ear. "Just a sec, Dean," he says, pushing through the crowd. His hand reaches the doorknob and he wrenches the door open, shutting it behind him.

"Hey," Castiel says, stepping out into the cold December night. The sky is clear and the stars shine like shards of glass catching light.

" _Hey, Cas,_ " Dean says.

Cas smiles involuntarily. _It's nice to hear his voice_ , he thinks, and then mentally slaps himself because that's a thought that's not okay, especially when Dean and he have been avoiding the topic of them being soulmates since the night Dean got drunk and snuck into his bedroom.

"What's up?" Castiel asks, trying to distract himself. "How are you?" His breath is visible in the air, and he wishes he would have brought gloves with him, but there's no way he's going back in that house until he absolutely has to.

" _I'm good,_ " Dean says. He sounds happy. It's been a long time since Cas has heard Dean sound genuinely happy, and it makes his heart squeeze. " _At a Christmas party. Uncle Bobby's here. And so are Ellen and Jo and Ash. We're having an ugly sweater party._ "

"I want pictures," Castiel says immediately.

" _Dammit,_ " Dean curses, as if he was hoping Cas wouldn't say that. " _Shouldn't have mentioned it._ "

"Too late," Castiel chirps. "No backing out now."

" _How are you?_ " Dean asks, and Cas can hear the smile in his voice.

"I'm alright," Cas says, looking through the window on the scene where all his cousins are squabbling around the Christmas tree, where his aunts and uncles were talking avidly to Chuck, who obviously was just waiting until he had spent an acceptable amount of time at the party so he could leave first and no one would blame him.

"Definitely not having as much fun as you are," Cas says finally, turning away. "All my family does is wait for my father to die so they can inherit his money."

" _That sounds shitty,_ " Dean says.

"Yeah," Cas agrees. "I have three cousins I like. Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar. The rest have sticks up their asses like their parents."

" _I don't have any cousins,_ " Dean says. " _Uncle Bobby isn't really my uncle, just a close family friend. Same with Ellen and Jo. I think of Jo kinda like my sister._ "

Suddenly Castiel's opinion of Jo Harvelle turns from "seems like a bitch" to "seems like a very sweet girl." Castiel's chest no longer feels constricted and it's like he's floating. He smiles into the phone.

" _Jo's pretty cool. Probably the only person I know that could kick my ass._ "

"Besides me."

" _You wish, Shurley,_ " Dean says. " _And then there's her mother. Christ, Ellen scares me. But she's fantastic, Cas. She likes to pretend she's not all soft._ " He stops talking, waiting for Castiel's reply.

"Keep talking," Castiel urges. "I like listening."

Dean laughs. " _Don't have much more to say about this topic._ "

"Then find another one. Tell me about something. Someone. Distract me. My family's been driving me up the wall. It's good to hear your voice."

If Dean thought the comment was weird, he doesn't say anything. " _I could tell you about… I dunno. I've told you about everyone, I think. My mom? But—_ "

"Yes. Tell me about your mother," Cas says, grateful for the suggestion.

Dean chuckles. " _But you've met my mom._ "

"Yes, as a guest in your house," Cas reasons. "Mothers are always different around company."

Dean laughs again, for real this time. " _You got that right,_ " he says, and then hesitates before adding, " _You first. Talk, Shurley._ "

Cas smiles. "She was great, Dean," he reminisces. "She would go on these health kicks every once in a while. And when she was on a health kick, everyone was on a health kick. It was terrible," he says, laughing.

"She made these disgusting smoothies…" he continues, and then shakes his head. "Awful. But she never kept it up for long. She liked sweets too much. And my dad would always complain that it cost too much money for her to be buying all that expensive organic crap anyway."

" _Too much money? As if, you guys are loaded,_ " Dean scoffs.

Cas chuckled. "We weren't always rich, dork. Mom used to work two jobs before Dad got the book deal. Dad used to work at a grocery store… until he got fired, at least. We had this shitty landlord, Crowley—"

" _Landlord?_ "

"Yeah, landlord," Cas says, confused that this is so hard for Dean to understand. "We used to live in the apartments on the other side of town… well, off and on. Sometimes we wouldn't make the rent in time and he'd throw us out. We camped out in the car for a few weeks when shit like that happened… up until Dad got his book published and we started getting rich, at least. That was probably a year and half before I met you. Maybe two years."

Dean is quiet, as if contemplating. Then, " _You say it like it's no big deal,_ " he finally says.

"It isn't. Well… it was at the time, but it's over now." He sighs, remembering the day they heard that Chuck's novel had been accepted for publication. A year or so after, it started getting more and more popular, on the New York Times Bestseller list, and suddenly they had a lot of money, and suddenly they were moving away from their apartment and into an actual house, and then into a bigger house, and then Chuck was away to sign book and be in interviews, to be in panels at local comic conventions. It was a blessing and a curse. "Why is me not being rich so hard to believe?"

" _I dunno, I just… I dunno. I never knew. You never told me._ "

"I guess I just never mentioned it," Cas says, offhandedly. "Your turn."

Dean's quiet for a moment, gathering his words. " _She was amazing, Cas. She would love that you're my soulmate, always liked you. She would tease me, too._ "

Cas chuckles, trying to keep it casual since Dean mentioned they're soulmates, but his heart doesn't get the memo. "Why would she tease you?"

" _Because I'm promised to a fucking nerd,_ " he deadpans.

Castiel has to bite back his laughter. Like Dean needs another ego boost. "Says the guy who told me my life was meaningless until I watched the _Star Wars_ trilogy," Castiel shoots back.

" _That's not a nerdy thing to say, that's just a fact of life,_ " Dean says defensively. " _And don't pretend you didn't love it, jerk._ "

They fall into a companionable silence, and Castiel is about to tell Dean that he ought to get back to the party when he speaks up again.

" _They're still married,_ " Dean says after a long moment.

"What?" he asks, not understanding.

" _My parents,_ " Dean explains. " _They don't have enough money to get divorced, so they're still married._ "

Cas thinks about it, and decides it's the saddest thing he's ever heard.

"You miss her, don't you?" Castiel whispers.

Dean's quiet for a moment, his voice hoarse when he answers. " _Yeah. And Sammy, too._ "

"You should visit them," Castiel suggests.

Dean laughs without humor. " _They're three states over, Cas, ain't no way I'm getting on a plane by myself to see them. I have no money._ "

"Then we'll visit her and Sam. You and I," Castiel says. "A road trip. We could go find them."

Dean's quiet for a moment. " _A road trip?_ "

"Yes. This summer."

" _I…_ " He trails off, the rest of his sentence lost somewhere between his mind and his tongue.

"Dean? Did I break you?"

" _You sure you want that, Cas?_ " he jokes weakly. " _Being in a car with me for days on end?_ "

"As long as I get to pick the music."

" _Not a chance._ "

Gabriel pokes his head outside from inside the house. "Hey, nerd, get inside. We’re gonna open presents."

"'Kay, one sec." Cas smiles widely. "I should get going. Gonna open presents now. Merry Christmas, Dean."

" _Merry Christmas, Cas,_ " Dean says in a quiet voice.

Cas hangs up first, staring at the screen long after the call is over, unwilling to go inside. His jaw aches from the effort it took to keep from chattering his teeth while on the phone.

His phone buzzes when Dean sends him a picture a few minutes later of him in a some godawful snowman sweater, surrounded by his family. On his right is a smiling Ellen Harvelle and on his left is a grumpy old man with a beard and a shot glass, which Cas can only presume is his Uncle Bobby. Behind them a few others are smiling and waving, but the most memorable is Jo, flipping off the camera and wearing a sweater that reads " _All I got for Christmas is this fugly sweater._ "

He laughs to himself and then clambers back inside. He hadn't realized his fingers were numb from the cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Brother John.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gNruQ0WWYCQ)


	9. Skinny Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, and the shorter-than-usual chapter up ahead. I had to choose between a super long one and a short one and a long one, so I chose the latter. The next chapter is nearly all the way written, so it may be posted very soon. (⊙ヮ⊙)

Castiel can feel the party starting to wind down. The presents are opened and dessert has been served, and he's sure that he and his dad are going to leave soon, but that doesn't stop him from slipping into an empty room of Uncle Michael's house to be alone.

Unfortunately, however, his cousin Gabriel doesn't get the memo of Castiel's antisocialness and slips into the room with him, a big grin plastered all over his face. Gabriel has never learned to leave him alone since they were children together. Gabriel declared that since he was older than Cas that he had the right to bother him, which Castiel thought was utter crap since Gabe wasn't even a year older than him, only six months, but Gabriel has held his earlier birth over Castiel's head to this very day.

"So," Gabriel says, leaning against the wall, which was covered in unfortunately-patterned wallpaper. He mouths at a candy cane, his mouth and tongue too red.

"So," Castiel echoes dumbly. Castiel knows what's coming, but refuses to bring it up himself.

Gabriel smiles wide. "You were talking to your boyfriend?" He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. "He good in the sack?"

Castiel makes a face at Gabe's wording. "Not my boyfriend."

Gabriel laughs. "Okay, baby cousin. Whatever you say. I'm getting me some cake. You have fun texting your not-boyfriend."

Gabriel starts to slip out of the room when Castiel calls out in curiosity. "Hey, Gabriel."

He stops in the doorway. "Yeah, what?"

"Who's _your_ soulmate?"

He shrugs. "Don't know. They're a few years younger than me." He leaves it at that, and exits the room.

As soon as Gabe is gone, Castiel rolls up his sleeve and looks at his marks. Gabriel asked if Dean was "good in the sack" and that made him wonder—should they have gone that far by now? They haven't even kissed yet, are they not progressing like they… should be? Are they ever going to progress, or are forever going to be in a state of limbo between friendship and soulmate-ship, not talking about what they are, pretending their past doesn't exist?

Castiel hates it. He wants to make a change in the relationship but at the same time he doesn't want to push Dean away, again, so for now he's stuck looking at his ruined marks, hating the past and wondering about the future. He almost regrets the day that he was saved by a beautiful stranger on an empty baseball field, but almost instantly he realizes he wouldn't change it for the world.

\---

Christmas Day is quiet, sorta.

He bids his father a Merry Christmas in the morning and then spends the vast majority of the day curled up on the couch by the Christmas tree, re-reading _The_ _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ , and okay, maybe Dean was right that he's a nerd but he has no right to comment on it and he doesn't need to know about this incident anyway.

There's a knock on the door at around one in the afternoon. Intrigued, and slightly annoyed, Castiel throws the blankets that he has cocooned himself in off himself to answer.

He opens the door, letting in a rush of cold air that make his teeth chatter.

"Hiya," Kevin says. Charlie smiles at him, snow dotting her vibrant red hair.

"Hey," Castiel says, confused. "What are you guys doing here?"

Kevin snorts. "Way to make us feel welcome," he says, and Charlie invites herself inside and Castiel moves aside in aquience, and Kevin shoots inside after her, both of them toeing off shoes and shaking snow from their hair.

"It's Christmas, you big idiot," Charlie says by means of explanation. "Of course we're going to want to see you." She pulls him into a hug, and Castiel feels a rush of gratitude towards his friends, especially because they found him when they did ~~-~~ despaired and alone and seeming like there was no end to the dark in sight.

"And also I'm freezing my butt off at home because our heater's broken and you have Norwegian hot chocolate," she says in his ear, ruffling his hair. She pulls away and moves to the kitchen, and Castiel instantly rethinks his gratefulness.

Castiel wonders how the hot chocolate being from Norway has anything to do with it, but he follows her into the kitchen, where she's already pulling two mugs from the cabinet while Kevin scours the refrigerator for milk.

Castiel leans on the doorframe that leads into the kitchen, watching them work around each other. They move in sync so well that Cas feels a small pang of sadness in his chest that he's not at good of friends with Kevin as Charlie is, and that they'll be graduating in the spring, and that he won't see Kevin as much anymore, nor would he see Charlie as much anymore.

"What's up, buttercup?" Charlie asks, noticing his downcast expression.

Cas just smiles at her. "Nothing, just gonna miss you guys. When I go to college."

"Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Ivy League," Charlie snorts. "Don't worry, Kevin will join you there in a few years."

"I'm more of a Columbia person, myself," Kevin interjects, and Charlie throws up her hands.

"Yes, okay, you are all very smart, and I only hack computers and obsess over _Doctor Who_. We understand."

"You could hack things for the government," Kevin says. " _Criminal Minds_ -style."

Charlie smiles. "I wish. So, how's the wife?" she asks Castiel, putting the milk on the stove to warm.

Castiel squints at her. "You mean Dean?"

"No, I mean your other soulmate," Charlie says sarcastically. Castiel scowls at her. "Yes, I mean Dean." She stops stirring the milk. "Do you have any whipped cream?"

Cas pulls his eyebrows together. "What do you think this is, Starbucks?"

She glares. "A simple 'no' would have sufficed. And you didn't answer my question."

He brushes a hand through his hair, distressed. "It's… complicated."

"But…?" Kevin interjects.

"But, it's complicated," Castiel reiterates. "We've only brought up the fact that we're soulmates once. And that was in passing. And he called me a nerd while doing it."

Charlie smiles, going to turn off the stove. "Good ol' Dean."

Cas groans. "You don't understand. It's like sophomore year all over again."

Charlie smiles sadly at him pouring the hot chocolate concoction into two mugs for her and Kevin. "You'll figure it out. Now who's up for watching me kick Kevin's butt in _Assassin's Creed_?"

"Oh, you are so in for it," Kevin says, following her out of the room. "And I get the red controller."

"Like hell you do," Charlie says. "It matches my hair. It's mine."

They bicker all the way to the TV room, and Cas smiles fondly, and he can't get it out of his head how much he's going to miss this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Skinny Love.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ssdgFoHLwnk)


	10. Drumming Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of violence and (a lot) of underage drinking. It's New Year's Eve!

Castiel remembers the day he realized that his mother was going to die.

He remembers that he read somewhere that it takes half the time of a relationship to gets over its end; it would take six months to get over a one-month relationship, a year to get over a two-year relationship, five to get over a ten-year relationship, and so on.

He thinks that's utter bullshit. People don't just "get over" things. They just put it in the past and decide to not let it consume every single second of their day.

Death changes people. Realizing their own mortality changes people. Realizing others' mortality, as well, changes people. It's scary. And it hurts.

But, Castiel realizes, time doesn't stop just because someone else does. He still has to drag himself up in the morning. He still has to go to school. And no amount of staring at the empty chair on the other side of the table at breakfast was going to change the fact that she did not come home from the hospital.

She was in a hit-and-run pedestrian/car accident when Castiel was eleven, shortly after his father's books started getting popular. She had severe trauma to the brain and was placed in a medically-induced coma until Cas was fourteen. And then they pulled the plug. It was December twenty-eighth.

Castiel hates the way his mother died. Mostly because he still likes to think that she could have made it, if they had just waited a little while longer. He kept spending every second after her funeral thinking, _what if we had just waited ten minutes later, and she woke up? What if we had just waited another week, and she woke up?_ And so on.

It was a terrifying way to live, and one that made him feel incredibly guilty. He still can't help but think it sometimes. And it hurts him in ways that make his chest squeeze, like there's a giant weight on top of it. He needs someone to take off the burden.

\---

New Year's Eve rolls around and Castiel feels the current of electric anticipation thrumming under his skin all day. It will be the first time he's talked to Dean since Christmas, and he's so excited to see him that he can't stop himself from checking the time every few minutes. It seems that time passes slower all day, and by the time the evening rolls around, Castiel is about ready to explode from impatience.

Charlie and Dorothy are first to arrive, and then Kevin. He tries to tone down his eagerness, and if anyone notices, they don't comment on it.

When the bell rings, Cas all but flings himself up the stairs to answer it. But when he gets there he opens the door slowly and smiles politely at Jo and then scolds Dean for being late, and then Dean tells him to get the stick out from up his ass, and Jo smacks him on the head for being rude, and it's the happiest Cas has been all winter break.

\---

They talk. They order pizza and eat it all. They yell too loudly. Charlie knocks over chair during an impromptu dance contest in the kitchen, and Dorothy and Dean laugh for a solid five minutes. They put on a movie that they all love, but they end up throwing popcorn at each other instead.

It takes them a while to remember the alcohol they have within easy reach. None of them are really drinkers, except for Dean on occasion, but he brought a bottle of champagne, and in addition to the beers and various wine bottles that were already stocked in the kitchen—because Chuck doesn't know how to handle being rich but he knows it involves buying lots of expensive alcohol—they simply cannot help themselves.

Castiel soon finds that it's exceedingly difficult to get him drunk. Jo makes it her mission to get him at least a little tipsy.

He goes down a line of whiskey shots that Jo set out for him, one right after the other, forcing himself to swallow the burning sensation and chasing it down with another. After he drinks the last one, he sets it down, his eyes watering.

"I think I'm starting to feel something," he says, his voice sounding more or less like he gargled pieces of gravel.

Jo stares, and then gives him a smile that says, _okay, not bad_. Cas decides that he likes her.

As it turns out, _yes,_ Cas _was_ beginning to feel something. After several minutes he can feel his boundaries start to disappear, and the line between reason and desire starts to fade, until they're one and the same.

Kevin, who opted for either being the designated driver/sober person who laughs at all the drunk people trying to function, points out that midnight is soon and that they should watch the ball drop on TV. It's only due to him that they remember the time at all.

They all loudly count down the seconds together, hollering and whooping when they reach zero, starting the New Year.

Dorothy and Charlie kiss as it happens. When Castiel sees, his stomach drops sharply, and he's filled with a sadness so sudden it almost physically knocks him over.

He slips out on the back porch, because suddenly the loud, rowdy, and light atmosphere makes him feel exceptionally out of place. He grabs an already-open beer on his way out, stepping into the freezing weather that makes it suddenly a lot easier to think.

He jumps up to sit on the porch railing and takes a swig of the beer in his hand. He rolls up his sleeve and looks at the tattoo on his arm, as if looking at it long enough will heal the scars that ruined his marks. He wonders if connecting the dots will somehow fix the tattoos, but scoffs at the idea. He's broken. There's no fixing that. And Dean must know that, and that's why he doesn't want him. 

He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes, ready to go into full break-down mode.

Fuck.

"What are you doing out here?"

The voice startles Castiel, but upon looking up he sees that it's only Dean. He sounds and looks a lot more sober than Castiel feels, not even slurring his words, and he steps across the porch to lean against the railing right next to where Cas is sitting.

"The fireworks are going to start soon," Cas lies, because it sounds better than _I want to kiss you a lot but I'm not sure you do so I'm holding back because I don't ruin whatever it is that we have between us._

"They usually start right at midnight," Dean says. He can tell that Dean knows he's lying, and he silently thanks him for not bringing it up by nudging him with his knee.

Cas shrugs. "Guess they're just running late." He does his best to not think about that sentence too much.

Dean nods and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a lighter and a half-finished pack of cigarettes. He picks one out and raises his lighter to ignite it, cupping his hand around the flame so it won't go out.

Castiel stares at him as he sucks smoke in from the cigarette, remembering the night that he brought Dean home from the jail and having the light the cigarette for him. He wonders why Dean hasn't broken the habit yet, especially when he's the starting pitcher for their school's baseball team.

"Why do you smoke?" he asks, which is a probably stupid and intruding question. He mentally scolds himself for saying stupid things, and then points out to himself that he's drunk, and then reasons that he says stupid things all the time, and now is just like any other second when he's with Dean. Then he tells himself to just _shut up already, God._

Dean breathes out a stream of smoke. "Takes the edge off. And also I look super hot," he says, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Cas rolls his eyes and punches Dean lightly in the arm.

"Why?" Dean wonders after a moment. "Do you want me to stop?"

Cas thinks about it. "Well, I'd like you to not die twenty years before me, so I wouldn't mind you quitting, no."

Cas smiles wanly at him before taking another drink of his beer, which he swallows wrong, sputters, coughs, and spills all over himself.

"Oh, shit," Cas says, looking down at the wet spots on his shirt. His face immediately heats up; he just wants to melt and fall through the cracks in the boards.

"Okay, I think that's enough alcohol for you," Dean says matter-of-factly, reaching for the bottle from his Cas' hands. Cas tries in vain to keep it in his possession, but Dean gently coaxes it out of his loosened grasp, and Cas doesn't have much will to fight, anyway.

Cas groans in humiliation, hiding his face in his hands. "I'm a fucking mess," he says. "Go inside and spare me the embarrassment." He weakly pushes at Dean's shoulder with one hand, the other still guarding his face, trying to direct him towards the door.

Dean takes Cas' hand and removes it from his shoulder, and only then does Castiel realize that his sleeves are still rolled up, and that Dean is staring at his marks.

It's too late to snatch his arm away, so he lets Dean look. It doesn't feel as bad as he always assumed it would.

"Not pretty, are they?" Cas asks quietly.

Dean's eyes flick up to his, a silent question, which Castiel nods yes to, so Dean raises his other hand and presses a light touch to the first dot, and the sensation sends an involuntary shiver down his back.

Castiel swallows the lump in his throat. "I was later than usual after cross country practice," he starts. Dean's eyes flick back up to his wildly. "When Alastair found me."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Castiel assures. He sighs. "I have to, at some point, anyway."

Dean's shoulders relax slightly, but Cas can tell he's still wary about the idea. He doesn't object to it further, though, so Castiel continues.

"Right," he says, mostly to himself. And then, louder, "It was a Friday after school. I was running later than usual after cross-country practice, because I was talking to Coach Henrikson about our meet on Saturday. He told me how there—how there were going to be college scouts there, looking for kids that they might want to give scholarships to, and he told me that he told them to look out for me." Castiel smiles to himself faintly before gathering his thoughts again.

"I was just really excited, so of course I kept asking questions about it. I made it to my car and I put my keys on the hood and tossed my bag in the back with my shoes. When I looked back up, my keys were gone."

"Alastair," Dean whispers. Cas nods silently.

"I knew it was him right away. I turned around and told him to give them back, but I was outnumbered and I knew I shouldn't provoke him too much. I figured he'd just get bored after a while and give them back.

"He just started making fun of me. When I wouldn't answer, he would wheedle away until he got a reaction. When I reacted, he pushed me to the ground. I said something—I said that he was afraid, because he needed Jackson and Brady around because he was too much of a coward to try to attack me himself, and that just made him angrier.

"He—" Cas' voice breaks. He hadn't even realized that he has started crying. Dean's hand lands just above his knee, a comforting weight. He wipes away the tears and tries again. "He took my keys and he—he dug them into my marks. Really hard."

He wipes his eyes. "It hurt like hell." He clears his throat. "He kept saying how I didn't deserve a soulmate. And I just remember there being a lot of blood, and that he was stepping on my throat and Brady and Jackson were holding me down and…"

 _And you weren't there that time_ , he thinks.

"Cas," Dean says, and he steps over so he can hug Castiel tight, hands pressing hard in between his shoulder blades and on the back of his neck.

"And then I must have blacked out," he babbles, muffling his words into Dean's neck. "Because the next thing I know I'm in a hospital bed and Charlie is there."

"It's okay now," Dean whispers. "It's okay now."

"I thought they were going to kill me," Cas says. "I thought they did."

"I'm here. I'm here."

"I missed the meet, too," Castiel says. "They said it would be bad for me to run when my trachea was damaged."

Dean clutches him tighter. "I won't let them touch you again."

Castiel shuts up, then, just wanting to enjoy this moment between Dean and himself. Cas has a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that this hug has gone on for about 5 seconds too long, but neither make a move to end it. Castiel's heart starts beating faster and he's almost positive that Dean can feel it.

They pull back at the same time, just far enough that they can see each other's faces. There's a moment suspended in the air. It drops. And then they're kissing.

Dean steps into the V of Castiel's legs, who boldly locks his ankles around Dean's thighs. He tastes bitter from the cigarette and sweet from the champagne and Cas just can't get enough of it, fisting his hands in his hair tightly, sweeping his tongue through Dean's mouth like a claim. He wants to tell Dean that he doesn't belong to anyone else but him, that Dean shouldn't be fucking around with strangers when he's bearing someone else's marks on his skin. He wants Dean to understand all the shit he's put him through, all that pain and heartbreak. He wants to take, he wants to bite skin and pull hair, he wants to leave well-placed bruises that are all his own. He wants Dean to understand that he wants him—but most of all, he just wants Dean to want him back.

"Dean," he pants between kisses. "Dean, please."

Dean might not understand, or maybe he does but doesn't want to deal with it right now, which Castiel can understand because they're shit-faced drunk and 100% going to be regretting this tomorrow morning, but at the same time it feels like it would be a sin if they stopped, so they keep kissing despite the fact that they've been pretending they aren't soulmates for weeks now, despite that they were only just beginning to be friends again and now they've gone and shot that horse in the face, despite that this is probably going to ruin everything all over again. Castiel tells himself it's because he's drunk and selfish, but a small nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that it's mostly because he's selfish. And he can live with that.

Until then, he can get used to the feeling of Dean's fingers digging into flesh, holding on tight. He can get used to the warmth of Dean's skin, his mouth, in drastic contrast to the below-zero air around them. He can get used to Dean.

They pull back at the same time in surprise and panic, because Castiel can feel an intense burning on his arm and realizes that it's the bond tattoo connecting the first two dots on their arms.

The slow burn of the tattoo is uncomfortably hot, just shy of painful. The sensation it leaves afterwards is itchy and annoying, like having hives or a bug bite. All in all, kind of unpleasant.

Cas can't wait to feel it again.

He wants to kiss Dean again, but that's when the fireworks start, and Castiel isn't sure if it would be okay for him to anyway. His ankles are locked around Dean's legs and his arms are thrown around his neck, there's less than six inches between them and not to mention that they're fucking _soulmates,_ but Cas still can't tell if it's okay to kiss him again. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and yet, he can't find it within himself to be angry at Dean, but rather the situation.

Dean watches the fireworks and sees the light, the power, the controlled fire. Castiel watches Dean and sees the same things.

Instead of pushing himself off of Dean, though, like any unselfish person would do, Castiel takes Dean's hand and leads him inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Drumming Song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SZ0p05bAlI)


	11. Like Real People Do

It takes a second for Cas to realize his surroundings, and when he sees that he's in the living room, he tries to sift through the events of last night that led him here. He comes up blank.

He observes the sight before him. Charlie is asleep on the floor and Dorothy is asleep in the chair facing the couch that Castiel is currently taking residence on. Jo and Kevin appear to be missing. Dean is asleep on the ground next to him, their fingers inches apart as if they had fallen asleep holding hands. It's a nice thought. Not that it's reality, or ever will become reality.

He thinks back to last night again, the memories fragmented. He remembers everything up until Jo started giving him shots and then… almost nothing?

Wait, no, that's not right. He thinks he remembers telling Dean something… something important, something that made Dean wrap his arms around him, something important enough to make his eyes tear up. Something that made Dean lean forward and… oh, no.

Castiel sits bolt-upright, which gives him a sudden wave of nausea. Only then does he realize how absolutely shitty he feels, the pulsing headache behind his eyes.

He pushes himself up from the couch and runs to the bathroom. He makes it just in time, emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet much too loudly for the still and quiet house.

He's shaking by the time he finished retching, a thin sheen of cold sweat covering his forehead. He wonders how Dean can drink so much if this is how he feels afterwards.

God, was he really so drunk that he told Dean what Alistair did?

Did they really _kiss_?

He wipes his mouth and flushes the toilet, standing shakily, and then brushes his teeth.

They didn't kiss… did they? It has to be a false memory, just wishful thinking on Castiel's part. He rinses his toothbrush with more aggression than necessary. He wishes they had kissed and he doesn't, because he doesn't want their first kiss to have been something that needed the haze of alcohol to finally get done, but he also really, really wants to have kissed Dean.

He looks down at his marks.

"Mother _fucker_!" he curses, his voice just above a whisper.

"Cas?" Dean calls, his voice thick with sleep, and Cas freezes. Oh, no. He doesn't want to deal with this now. Not now, when he doesn't know what to say, what to think. Especially he doesn't know whether or not Dean will be regretting last night or not. They were just starting to be friends again, goddammit. And Cas had to go and tell a sob story that made Dean feel obligated to make him feel better. Fuck, _fuck_.

"Cas, you okay?" Dean calls again. He pokes his head into the bathroom and sees the state he's in, knuckles white from where he's gripping the sides of the sink too hard. "Shit, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Castiel says, too quickly. "Just a little nauseous, is all."

"Well," Dean says, taking Cas' hand. Cas starts and stares at the place where their skin touches, little lightning bolts racing through his veins. He looks up to meet Dean's eyes, earnest and definitely not still drunk, and that's what scares Cas the most. "I'm sure you're strong enough to get over it." He starts leaning in, as if to kiss him, and Castiel freaks.

Castiel jumps back, panicked. "What are you doing?" he says quickly. No matter how much he wants Dean, he wants this to be real, and he wants Dean to actually want this. He has to be sure that Dean feels the same way Castiel does.

Dean pulls back and stares, confused, before his expression goes completely neutral. "Nothing, I guess."

Castiel can feel it coming.

"Nothing?" Castiel asks, like the asshole he really is. "You were about to kiss me."

Castiel can see the anger welling up inside of Dean. He pushes his shoulders back and his eyebrows pull together. "I said it was nothing, Cas," and then stalks back into the living room.

Cas follows him there, noticing that Dean is grabbing his boots to pull them on.

"What are you doing?" he asks, his tone accusatory.

"Getting out of your hair," Dean snaps. He finally pulls on his boots and angrily ties the laces.

"I never told you to leave."

"You didn’t have to," he bites, moving to walk past him to the door.

Cas grabs his arm to keep him from leaving. "Stop."

He realizes that he likes fighting with Dean. At least when they fight they're not lying to each other, like they do the other 90% of the time when they're together. Everything that happens between them is only generic and tentative anymore, but when they fight they give everything that they have, and it's the most honest they've been with each other since the day Dean left Cas reaching for him in a school hallway.

Dean tugs his arm free."Cas, just—!"

"What? 'Just' what?"

"I- " Dean starts. He stops, frustrated, gathering his thoughts. "I'm tired of dancing around each other like we're—like we're not what we are!"

"And what are we?" Castiel snaps.

"We're soulmates, Cas!" he whisper-yells. "We can't pretend that's not real!"

"I'm not pretending, Dean!" Castiel says loudly. He notices Charlie stirring in her sleep.

"Then what are you doing?" Dean says, lowering his voice. "I thought we were together, after last night."

"You thought we were—?" Cas starts, and Dean nods his head as if to say, _well, duh_. "I've been waiting for _you_ to say something," he hisses.

Dean makes a face. "Why have you been waiting for _me_?" he asks, more with disdain than confusion.

"I wanted to move at your pace," Cas explains with a sigh. "I figured I couldn't do anything wrong if I followed your lead."

Dean stares at him and doesn't say anything, so Cas continues.

"I realize now that that was probably too much pressure to put on you, especially if you were not aware."

He has nothing more to add, but the other boy still stares at him. He's afraid that Dean's brain has actually short-circuited, so he speaks up again, tentatively.

"Dean?"

Whereupon Dean steps forward and takes Cas' face in his hands, kissing him softly. Castiel kisses him back before his surprise even registers with him.

"You're an idiot," Dean murmurs against his mouth. Cas nips his lip to show his displeasure, to which Dean chuckles. "Weren't you the one who told me that relationships are two-sided? If you want to kiss me, kiss me. If you want to text me, do it. Don't be afraid of scaring me off. I'm your soulmate, Cas."

"Then the same goes for you," Castiel says, grumpy. "Don't worry about me, Dean. I won't break."

Dean smiles and kisses him again. "I know you won't."

 

Dean and Cas wake up Dorothy and Charlie, the latter less than enthusiastic about the raging hangover she’s having to deal with. They find Jo in Castiel's room, sprawled out on the futon she somehow managed to convert to a bed. They find out how completely rabid Jo is when being woken up before noon on a day off, and they find Kevin in Chuck’s office, passed out on a chaise, an open book in his hand.

Dean brews coffee for everyone—once Jo stomps her way into the kitchen by herself—and they make the best of it, just as they always do. Cas forces everyone to drink water, and they spend most of the day together before realizing they have families and homes to attend to.

**\---**

They go back to school a few days later. For a week, everything is perfect. They spend all their off hours with each other, studying, talking. Castiel knows that eventually things will level off, as they always do, but right now Castiel is caught up in how new and light everything feels when he's around Dean, the feeling that everything else can wait. It's like being on a vacation from mundane, everyday life. And Castiel loves it.

It's a Tuesday afternoon. Charlie, Kevin, Cas and Dean have all left school and are sitting in a small coffee shop, trying to get homework done, but it was a better idea in theory, because Castiel is distracted by the sleepy warmth that comes with drinking a warm drink, and the comfortable atmosphere of the room.

"I hate Tuesdays," Castiel sighs, closing his Calculus textbook.

"Why's that?" Charlie asks, looking up from her book.

"Because it's the worst day of the week. It's exactly that spot in the week where it's not exactly the beginning of the week, but it's not even close to the end, and you think to yourself, 'God, I have to do this for four more days.'"

"You've thought too much about this," Dean says, quirking an eyebrow.

"I am simply observant," Cas says, taking a drink of his tea. Maybe chamomile wasn't the best choice, in hindsight. "There is no such thing as thinking too much, anyway."

Dean hums in thought. "Not necessarily," he says, closing his book as well and scooting his chair closer to Cas. He takes Cas' hand and rubs slow circles around a knuckle. "It's good to not think so much sometimes." He leans forward and kisses Cas on the corner of his mouth, slowly, and Cas' mind short-circuits. They haven't really discussed the whole PDA thing, but Dean doesn't seem to care about that.

Cas likes this. He likes being with Dean. The world feels brighter, lighter, since they got together, and it's like everything else can wait. Cas has never felt like he can focus on anything other than school or friends before. School and friends were his entire world, and while he loves them he feels finally like he can confide in someone for even the stupidest and miniscule things. 

"I don't." Cas' train of thought leads to a dead end, and he shakes himself and tries again. "I don't know what you're talking about." He gently pushes Dean off him. "Not now," he says, short of breath, and Dean grins at him, the little shit.

"Get a room, assholes," Kevin says. But he's smiling.

\---

Friday brings a storm with it, however.

Dean brings back the tradition of trying to educate Castiel on pop culture, and this week’s movie happens to be _The Princess Bride_. Castiel loves it. He tells Dean that it’s his favorite that Dean’s shown him so far.

"Pretty great, right?" Dean says, smiling. "It’s been one of my favorites since I was a kid."

"I can understand why," Castiel says, smiling up at him.

He sighs and pulls out his phone. Upon noticing the time, he scrambles off the couch. "Shit, I said I’d be home half an hour ago."

"Oh, crap," Cas says. "You better get going. You want me to drive you home?"

"Nah, I’ll just take the bus or something," Dean says. He grabs his coat off the chair and swings it around his shoulders.

"I’ll call you," Castiel says.

"I’ll answer," Dean says, and leans forward to peck a kiss on Cas’ cheek. "I’m glad you liked the movie."

Cas smiles. "I’m glad you watched it with me. Now get out of here before it starts getting too late."

Dean smiles and opens the door, stepping into the night.

"Text me when you get home, okay?"

He can almost feel Dean roll his eyes. "Okay, mom."

Castiel watches another movie, _Star Wars_ , because he wonders what it’s actually like without Dean reciting every line but feels that he’s betraying Dean in some strange way. He falls asleep halfway through, however, and when he wakes up it’s to the credits rolling across the screen.

He picks up his phone and checks his messages. One from Charlie (whats up buttercup??) but none from Dean. He frowns, checking the time. It’s been almost three hours since Dean left for home. He told Dean to text him when he got home, maybe he just forgot?

He dials Dean’s number.

 _You’ve reached Dean Winchester_ , Dean's voicemail says, _leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone._

Castiel hangs up. He calls again.

_You’ve reached Dean Winchester, leave your name, number and nightmare at the—_

Castiel hangs up again, and then presses the "new message" icon, and starts tapping out a message.

 _Pick up your phone_ , Castiel types. He sends the text.

He waits an hour and gets no response. He tells himself that it's stupid to get worried over two missed calls and an unanswered text, but old insecurities tell him that _Dean doesn't want you anymore, because you're broken and clingy and disgusting_. He dismisses the thought. If Dean didn’t want him, he wouldn’t have spent every day with him this week. He wouldn’t have kissed him so much.

Another voice tells him that Dean’s in trouble. Again, he dismisses the thought.

He sends another message.

_Call me when you've got time._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Like Real People Do.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yrleydRwWms)


	12. Dead Sea

**PART TWO**

\---

The meeting room is white, of the blinding kind. Dean Winchester shifts uncomfortably in his seat, made of hard plastic like those that you find tucked in student desks. He runs a nervous hand through his brown-blonde hair, waiting.

The woman who brought him here told him to wait, that she’d be right back. That was fifteen minutes ago, and Dean has had some time to over-think it, and he is definitely considering jumping out of a window at this point.

He’s meeting his soulmate today.

He looks again at the clock. Sixteen minutes. He pulls at the sleeves of his leather jacket, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. They’re his nicest pair, without any rips or strange stains, but maybe he should have opted for a pair of khakis? Does he even _own_ a pair of khakis? Oh, God, this is going to be a train wreck.

He huffs a sigh of annoyance and looks again at the clock. Seventeen minutes. The assistant has been gone for seventeen minutes. What the hell could she possibly be doing? She must be trying to kill him.

 _What if they won’t like me? What if I’m not good enough for them?_ Dean thinks to himself.

They’re cliché thoughts, unoriginal and have most likely been thought of trillions of times over the centuries that soulmates have existed. None of those fears have ever been found to be true, probably. However, Dean is a stubbornly insecure person, and he will think this for as long as it’s necessary.

This morning, his father had told him that Dean shouldn’t worry about meeting his soulmate. In fact, he shouldn’t complain at all, considering that John had never met his actual soulmate.

 _Maybe Mary and I weren’t a mistake_ , he said, _if our kid was matched with someone._

John can say that all he wants. Maybe Dean will start to believe it.

When he notices the assistant walking with purpose towards his meeting room, Dean sits up straighter and folds his hands in front of him. When he gets a good look at his match, though, Dean stands up in surprise and confusion. No, this can't be right.

They enter the room.

“Castiel?” Dean asks, slightly confused. No, this can’t be right. Castiel hates him, and he’s pissed at Castiel. There’s no way that they’re fucking _soulmates_.

The woman decidedly ignores his uneasy expression, and the cold anger on Cas’ face that quickly slips into something neutral, robotic.

“Oh, so you know each other?” she asks, but she looks like she couldn’t care less what Cas’ answer was, only that she wanted to make polite conversation because she’s supposed to.

“Oh, yes,” Castiel says, looking up to catch Dean’s eye. His cold expression makes Dean’s stomach twist uncomfortably. “We know each other.”

“Well, that’s wonderful,” she says breezily. “I’ll leave you two alone, then.” And then she’s gone.

Castiel turns to stare at her until she’s out of sight, and Dean does his best to look away from Cas but ends up staring. Cas has grown up in the past two years; a little taller, hair darker, jaw dotted with stubble. He looks good.

“So,” Dean says, trying to break the tense silence that’s settled between them. “You and me, huh?”

Castiel turns his gaze on Dean, his eyes large and owlish. “Yes,” he says slowly. “Me and you.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck nervously, looking off to the side. Anything to get away from Cas’ too-intense gaze. “Look, I know we’ve had our wrinkles in our past, but—”

“It’s nothing that can’t be taken care of,” Castiel finishes for him. He scrutinizes Dean’s appearance, his stare piercing, like he’s seeing him down to his very atoms. It makes him shift from foot to foot, uncomfortable yet again. “Later, of course.”

“Oh, of course,” Dean says. Goddammit. He didn’t mean for that to sound hostile, it just did—and, fuck, now Cas looks angry.

Cas sighs in annoyance. “I know that you dislike me, Dean, and I’m sure you have your reasons for that—”

“I never said I disliked you,” Dean interjects quickly. And it’s true. He never said he disliked him.

“If I remember correctly, you thought it best we weren’t affiliated anymore. Forgive me, but I took that as a sign you didn’t want me around anymore,” he says. “Though, again if I remember correctly, it was a very one-sided conversation.” Cas chuckles humorlessly.

Dean shuffles his feet, feeling like a scolded child. He understands why Cas feels this way.

He hates himself for it but it was the only way Cas would let him go. Things were complicated. Cas was too good to _not_ intervene unless Dean gave him a damn good reason to. Jesus Christ, this is messy.

“Cas—”

He stiffens suddenly, his face going from neutral to angry in half a second. “No,” he says curtly. “Forget it.”

“Cas, wait,” Dean say, but he doesn’t seem to hear him. He all but runs out of the meeting room.

“Cas!” he calls after him, but he keeps running. “Castiel!”

And he’s gone.

Dean remembers a scene like this, except their roles were reversed. Dean’s hit with a pang of bitter regret and sadness, and he realizes that Castiel has all the right in the world to be angry at him if this is how Dean made him feel when they last saw each other.

\---

** TWO YEARS AGO: **

_“Next time you get yourself arrested, don’t expect me to bail you out again, asshole!” Castiel yells at his back._

_Dean flips him off but keeps walking. The wind pushes at his shoulders, cold and biting. The walk home isn’t exactly a long one, but it takes forever to finally get to his cramped apartment. His fingers shake as he tries to insert his key into the door, and he’s not sure it’s entirely from the cold._

_When he finally manages to unlock the door, he lets himself in. Mary is in the kitchen, by the sound of it, and John is on the couch watching the news. Sammy is at the kitchen table with a book. The apartment is much warmer than the outside, and Dean starts shedding his scarf and gloves._

_His father is on him in .02 seconds._

_“Where have you been?” he asks, his place on the couch forgotten. His eyes are bloodshot and his breath smells sour-sweet._

_“Out,” Dean says shortly._

_“Why are you crying?” his little brother asks from the table. He didn’t even realize that he had been shedding tears since his encounter with Castiel._

_“Fuck knows,” Dean replies, and his mother turns around to reprimand him. Dean instantly regrets his snappish behavior towards his brother, but doesn’t say anything._

_“Language, Dean,” she says. There’s no heat behind her words, though._

_“You didn’t answer my question,” his father presses._

_“I haven’t even taken my jacket off, would you get off my back for two fucking seconds?” Dean snaps._

_Everyone falls silent. Sam, in nervous anticipation. John, in anger. Mary, in fear._

_“Don’t speak to me like that, boy,” John says with cold fury. “You will treat me with some respect.”_

_Dean has never spoken back to his father before. Sam has voiced his anger on this topic before—that Dean doesn’t question John’s actions even if they’re questionable. Dean tells Sam that it’s because he doesn’t want to make conflict. But it’s really because Dean doesn’t want another empty beer bottle thrown at his head._

_It rarely happens, Dean tells himself, so he doesn’t know why he’s so afraid of it. It’s not a big deal. It’s not._

_But tonight, things are different. Dean could feel the shift in the atmosphere as soon as Dean walked in the front door._

_“Why?”_

_“Because I didn’t raise my kid to be such a disrespectful asshole,” John says._

_“Enough, John,” Mary says from behind Dean, rinsing dishes at the kitchen sink._

_“Yeah, because you didn’t raise a kid, you raised a fucking soldier,” Dean murmurs._

_“Jesus, what’s your fucking problem?” John says. Dean can’t deny how much he sounds like a teenager—immature and childish._

_“John, drop it,” Mary says in a warning tone._

_“You want to know what’s my fucking problem?” Dean asks, approaching his father slowly. “Fine. It’s you, Dad. You’re my fucking problem.”_

_“Dean—” John starts._

_“No, I am dead fucking serious,” Dean says. “Because you fucking spent all the money this month on your fucking drinking problem and now guess what? We still have to pay rent at the beginning of the month, Sam is surviving on lunch from school, mom is working her ass off to make ends meet, and you are sticking around to reap the fucking benefits!”_

_“I do more for this family than anyone here!” John laments. “And no one fucking appreciates me!”_

_“John, stop it,” Mary says. Dean notices how she doesn’t say anything to him, but doesn’t mention it._

_“That’s bullshit!” Dean roars at John. “I played a poker game with the lint in my fucking pockets and_ lost _, and I still did more for this family than you have in three. Fucking. Years!”_

_Sam is crying. Dean would like to comfort him, but instead he’s here having a standoff with his father. Mary moves from the kitchen to wrap her arms around the twelve-year-old, and he buries his face into her shirt._

_“You know where I was tonight?” Dean asks. “I was at the police station. Sam said he was hungry, so I tried to get some money in a poker game, and I fucking lost. I went to the store to get some bread and some peanut butter and I couldn’t pay for it. Fucking Castiel Shurley had to pay my bail.”_

_“I want you to stay away from that fucking leech,” John says._

_“What the_ fuck _did you just call him?” Dean says, curling his hands into fists. “He’s a leech? Why don’t you look in a fucking mirror, jackass!”_

_“That’s enough!” Mary yells, and everyone falls into stunned silence, staring at the blonde woman._

_“I’ve had enough of this, John,” she says after a drawn-out pause._

_“You’re taking his side on this?” John says angrily, recovering his righteous indignation._

_“Yes, I am,” Mary says. “I have had enough of this. Though Dean shouldn’t have gotten into the poker game in the first place, he was just trying to do what he could.” She looks pointedly at him, and Dean hangs his head in shame._

_“And he’s not wrong,” she says. “The most you’ve done for this family was sit on your ass and spend the disability check on liquor. I’m tired of supporting a family on a waitress’ paycheck. It’s not fair to the boys, and it’s definitely not fair to me.”_

_“You could’ve gotten a better fucking job,” John says._

_“And you could have_ gotten _a fucking job,” Mary says. “But I guess you can’t always get what you want.”_

_Dean blinks in surprise. He’s never heard his mother swear like that before._

_That night is difficult. Dean tosses and turns in bed for what feels like forever. All he can think about is how he treated Cas after he picked him up_

_Dean guesses that whatever they had going had to snap someday. Most marriages that weren’t perfectly matched often ended this way—the resentment, the anger. Alcohol problems were abundant. It all stemmed from the idea that,_ hey, there’s someone out there that’s perfect for me, but this person is not it.

_You start seeing their flaws and blow them out of proportion. The little things that annoy you start to annoy you even more. And the person you thought you could scrape by with starts to seem like the person that’s weighing you down._

_It’s the same story, a cliché, and Dean hates that his father fell victim of it._

_Dean hears the door open, which he thinks is strange, because his parents went to be hours ago (Mary in the bedroom, John on the couch) and Sammy’s been in this room for a while. In case it’s John, Dean pretends to be asleep, shutting his eyes and staying absolutely still except for the slow rise and fall of his chest. He hopes it’s convincing._

_“Hey, kiddo, let’s go,” he hears Mary say across the room. Dean feels a rush of relief._

_“Wha…?” Sam asks, his voice sleep-thick and small._

_“Pack a bag, we’re leaving._

_“Where to?” Sam asks. Dean can hear him throwing the covers off himself._

_“Your Grandma and Grandpa Campbell’s. We’re going to stay with them for a while. You, too, Dean. Pack a bag.”_

_“How did you—” Dean starts. And then stops, because of course she knows, she’s his mother._

_“Just get up,” his mother instructs. “I want to do this without waking your father up.”_

_Dean sits up in his bed, but he doesn’t make a move to start packing, thoughts swirling angrily around in his head. His mother is furiously grabbing clothes from Sam’s drawer, pulling them out and throwing them back like a hurricane wind._

_“Dean, get ready. We have to go.”_

_“I have to stay here.”_

_Mary freezes where she is, a bunched up t-shirt in her hand. “Dean.”_

_“I can’t—” Dean swallows the lump in his throat, with difficulty. “I can’t just leave him, mom. He’ll die. He drink himself to death, choke himself on his own vomit. I don’t like him either, mom, but… he’s still Dad.”_

_His mother sighs. “Dean… I really, really think you should come with us. Your father will be out of our hair. Maybe he’ll even sober up a bit, start to realize that his actions have repercussions. That he’s not exempt from the rules just because he thinks he’s above them.”_

_“I’m sorry, Mom,” Dean says. “Believe me, I want to go. I do. But—”_

_Mary nods in understanding. “I know.” She reaches forward and cups his cheek in her palm. “You’re too loyal, you know that?” She shakes her head and pecks his cheek. “Help Sam pack, I need to bring my bags out. Grandma Campbell is already waiting downstairs.”_

_She quickly leaves the room and Dean starts emptying Sam’s drawers into his bags, slower than his mother was._

_“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Sammy asks, his voice small. Dean already misses him, already can’t stand how he’s going to be away from Sam._

_But Sam will be safer. He’ll grow up and do well in school, and maybe Dean can see them at Christmas. Maybe Sam will write him letters, text him on the phone._

_“I want to, Sam,” Dean says again. He sighs. “I just can’t. All my friends are here, and so is my school. I can’t switch high schools in the middle of sophomore year. I’ll get so far behind. And Dad—”_

_Dean sighs again, reaching behind his head to scratch his neck. An awful feeling settles in his stomach, and he feels like he has to throw up._

_“Dad is just a bad side effect.”_

\---

He realizes that he’s shaking. Everyone leaves.

He runs out of the meeting room, but he knows that he won’t catch Castiel. He runs down several flights of stairs and makes it past the waiting room, only to see Charlie Bradbury driving off with Castiel in the passenger seat, so Dean makes his way to his own car.

“Dammit,” he curses. “God-fucking- _dammit_!”

He starts the car and drives home, his knuckles white where he grips the wheel too hard. This is going to be one hell of a ride.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Dead Sea.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lUaExjMc3IY)


	13. Flaws

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentioned and implied Dean/other.  
> Excuse all grammar/spelling errors in this chapter, I have no beta and I am posting usually as soon as I finish writing it. I try to catch as many errors as I can, but, alas, sometimes my efforts are not enough!  
> Sorry this took so long to get up. I started two other fics these past few weeks, and I've been trying to write all of them at once.

When Dean gets home, his dad is awake.

This is a rare occurrence.

"So," his father starts. His hand is curled around a beer bottle, his elbow resting on the kitchen table.

"So," Dean answers, stiffly. His father doesn’t seem to notice his cold demeanor, or maybe he's just ignoring it. He starts toeing out of his boots and clunks them down by the front door.

"Who was it?" John asks, referring to his meeting with his soulmate. Dean tosses his keys into the little bowl of keys on their counter.

For a moment, Dean is thinking about lying. Thinking about not even telling his father at all. Or maybe making up some bullshit story that his soulmate actually lives very far away, in a distant country, like Brazil or India or Britain.

He knows that won’t work, though.

"Cas Shurley," he answers, shrugging off his coat and hanging it up over a kitchen chair. He starts moving to go to his bedroom, wanting nothing more than to leave this conversation behind. He moves to the fridge, questing for something to eat.

"That fucking leech?"

Dean freezes his movements to look for something to eat in the fridge, and turns around slowly, the refrigerator door swinging shut unceremoniously behind him.

"Don’t fucking talk about him like that," Dean snaps, and the intensity and anger in his tone scares the living hell out of him and his father. Apparently when people are rich, they become "leeches" to his father. As if he isn’t one. And his father doesn't deserve to talk about Cas like that.

John seems to understand that he crossed a line, and instantly falls silent. Dean stalks to his room and slams the door behind him.

He thinks about the way Cas stormed out of the meeting room, the things he said. It is confusing and a little frustrating, and Dean feels like he wants to fall into bed and never have to face Cas or the rest of the world again. 

Dean can understand why Castiel says that he left him. He did. He’s not denying it. But Castiel left him right back.

Dean knew Cas. He was stubborn and brave, willing to fight for what he wanted. Dean’s just a little hurt that Cas just let Dean go, and didn’t view their friendship as worth fighting for.

\---

Dean finally gets the courage to talk to Cas on the Tuesday after they figured out they were soulmates. He approaches Castiel quickly, leaving little time for him to change his mind and chicken out. Again.

Cas is sliding books into his locker and grabbing new ones. His hair is messy, his shirt rumpled as if he had just grabbed it out of the dryer that morning. His tanned skin makes his blue eyes pop, and his dark hair catches light, and he looks beautiful.

Suddenly Dean feels nervous for a completely different reason, that same kind of nervousness he had when he asked Lisa Braeden on a date in freshman year. Which doesn’t make sense, because he’s not asking Cas on a date, he’s trying to make Cas not hate him.

Before he can reach Cas, Alastair and his groupies have already run into him, causing him to spill his books on the floor.

Protective anger flares up inside of Dean, but, even though he wants to run up to Alastair and beat the shit out of him like the day he first met Cas, he keeps his course and picks up Cas’ books before Cas can reach them.

They stare at each other for a few moments, and Dean gently but insistently pushes the books into Cas’ chest, trying to get him to take them.

Cas takes the books. "Dean," he greets stiffly.

Dean’s heart falls into his stomach. He hadn’t realized that he was hoping that Cas would be a bit more relaxed around him—and why would he, anyway?—but it hurts all the same.

"Cas," he says. He sounds equally cold, and the tone makes his own voice sound foreign to his own ears.

More staring.

Dean means to say, _Please don’t hate me_ or _Tell me what I can do to fix this_. But what comes out is, "On Saturday, what did you mean about me leaving you?"

Dean’s not sure what he’s supposed to mean by that. Of course he left Cas, but… of course, Cas left him back.

Cas raises an eyebrow. "Simply what I said. You remember the event, I am sure, unless your memory has been compromised."

"What?" Dean asks. _That’s not an answer_ , he’s about to say, but Castiel cuts him off.

Castiel huffs a sigh in annoyance that makes Dean’s eye twitch. "Dean, I must get to my next class. You can call me if you wish, my number hasn't changed."

Cas moves to step around Dean, but the latter grabs his forearm and pulls him back, slamming him against the lockers in the process. His head hits the locker, which disorients him.

"If you want to say ‘fuck you,’ just come out and say it," Dean growls, but he’s unsure if Cas understood him, because he looks pretty out of it.

When he comes back to Earth, Dean leans in and talks quickly and urgently. 

"Listen to me, Cas." Dean's voice is low and angry, surprising even himself. "I was _not_ the only one who left, okay, _you_ did too. I was gone, okay, but you were the one who didn't come back."

"That is a _lie,_ Dean Winchester," Castiel whispers furiously. "You left _me_. You said you'd call. You asked for space, and I gave it to you, two years' worth of it."

Dean grinds his teeth together angrily. "I was trying to get my distance," he whispers back, voice secretive.

"And I was trying not to get my ass handed to me. The only reason Alastair didn't try to attack me was because he knew I was under your watch. You want to know what happened when that wasn't true anymore?" Castiel pulls his arm free of Dean's loose grip and stalks down the hallway.

"Cas, wait," Dean calls weakly. But Cas keeps walking.

Dean feels his heart break even more.

\---

That Friday, Benny, Dean’s friend from baseball, texts him that there’s a party tonight at Meg Master’s house.

 _Why would I want to go?_ Dean types. He sends the message.

Dean doesn’t care for parties. Despite his moderate popularity—which came mostly from his looks and his place as the baseball team’s starting pitcher—Dean was a pretty reserved person. He stuck mostly to Jo and Ash and sometimes Benny, and before the shit had hit the fan Dean was damn near attached at the hip with Cas and Charlie.

 _Because Alastair will be there_ , is Benny’s reply.

Dean really ought to give Benny more credit. He knows Dean well.

 _On my way_ , Dean sends.

He goes to the party for two reasons. One, because he really wants to beat the shit out of Alastair. And two, because he really needs a good distraction.

Turns out that the whole affair is fucking boring. Teenagers breaking out their parents’ vodka, their champagne, cheap beer, and red wine. It’s the same party, just in a different house this time, with a mostly different people. It’s a little redundant, and Dean’s getting antsy.

He’s had two beers and a handful of chips. There is still no sign of Alastair. He talked to Benny for a little while before he went upstairs with Andrea, his girlfriend, where most of the kids are going to take advantage of the bedrooms. He sees Ash and gives him a wave, to which Ash responds by giving him the "rock on" gesture and then diving back into his conversation with a pretty brunette girl; he thinks her name is Madison. He's thinking of going over there when suddenly his eyes meet with a boy across the room.

He thinks he knows him from one of his classes—Vincent, or something. The look in his eyes is downright predatory, and his movements are slow and catlike. A shudder passes down Dean's spine, because he knows what that look means, and the boy clearly knows what he's doing to Dean. He crosses the room, seeming to be heading for him, but then he turns last minute and heads upstairs.

And just like that, Dean’s found his distraction.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Flaws.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1E36WU9Wzf4)


	14. Islands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good-sized chapter ahead!  
> Warnings for underage drinking/drunkenness, and mentions of abuse. My apologies! (╯︵╰,)  
> Again, if there are any grammar/spelling errors, please please please tell me in the comments! It would really help!

He's blown two different guys and let one of them fuck him by the time he wanders back to the actual party, legs wobbly and he tries to maneuver the stairs. The two guys that he had sex with didn’t really care about reciprocating, but that’s fine, because to them it was just a quick fuck and Dean was grateful for the distraction they provided.

 _Distraction from what?_ his brain asks. Dean doesn’t know the answer quite yet, so he ignores the question.

Part of him wishes that the rumors were true, that a soulmate can feel when their other half goes off and is disloyal. People say that disloyalty from one side can make the other half feel unreasonably cocky, like they have nothing to lose. Or it can make them feel incredibly sad—an impending sense of doom. Sometimes both. But there’s little evidence of that.

Part of him wishes Castiel would know that Dean went off and had sex with random guys at a party, that Cas would get angry at him for it. Part of him wants Castiel to hurt like he’s hurting, just so he knows he’s not alone. But part of him also wants Castiel to never feel pain, to always be happy.

Guilt is washing over him in waves, and he’s trying to keep it under control, because losing his shit at a party would probably not be the best thing to do right now. Dean doesn't know what's wrong with him. He doesn’t know why he’s feeling these feelings now, after he’s spent such a long time detaching himself from them, spent so long trying to outrun them. It suddenly seems like they’ve caught up to him, consuming him, and Dean doesn’t like it.

 _Maybe it's because you're still in love with him and he hates you_ , part of his brain whispers, but the other part of his brain tells it to _shut the fuck up, what do you know?_

A distraction. He needs a distraction. He moves to the kitchen, finding and pouring some scotch into the flask that used to belong to his Uncle Bobby because he’s positive that John’s gone through the beers and he’s pretty sure that his dad will be grumpy in the morning unless there’s alcohol.

God, has his dad been a dick these past few days. Ever since Dean snapped at him, John’s been saying and doing little things just to piss Dean off a little more each time. Yesterday he locked him out of the apartment for half an hour in the cold while Dean was banging on the door, his keys forgotten inside on the counter.

 _Sorry_ , his father had said when he finally opened the door, his eyes glinting. _I was asleep._

Like hell he was.

He’s tried to be a good son. He stayed behind because he didn’t want his father to fall apart even more than he already is, even if he is a giant douche. He’s done his best to make John happy, to make sure that they had enough money during the year by picking up summer jobs down at Bobby’s auto shop, sometimes doing random odd jobs during the school year just for some extra cash. Somehow, it’s not enough for John.

And then he suddenly knows why he needs a distraction. Because his father and Castiel—the two people in the world that _should_ love him most—are indifferent to his actions, to his future, or his choices. And Dean just wants to be wanted.

Suddenly the scotch in the flask looks so very tempting. He raises the cold metal to his lips, getting in two gulps before the burn is too much for his throat. And then he does it again. And again.

His phone starts vibrating in his pocket, and he fishes it out to see that Charlie Bradbury is calling him, which is super weird.

It’s either an accident or something serious. He hasn’t talked to Charlie in almost two years.

He answers it.

“Hello?” he greets, tentatively. His words only slur slightly. The scotch hasn’t kicked in quite yet.

“Dean?” she says, and he voice sounds warped and different over the phone. She sounds unsure of the reason she’s on the phone with him, as if _she_ wasn’t the one who called _him_. It makes Dean feel nervous.

“Charlie?” Dean asks. “What’s up?” He’s horrible at small talk.

“Nothing much,” she says, falling into the pattern easily. “At the movies. Cas and Kevin are picking it out. I snuck away for a second.”

“Awesome,” Dean says, feeling extremely awkward.

“What are you up to?” she says conversationally.

“Just at a party,” he says, and he’s itching to hang up the phone and forget about this instance.

“A party?” she asks, and sounds incredibly surprised. “I didn’t know you went to parties.”

“Not usually, actually. Needed to loosen up,” Dean says, and he isn’t even lying.

This is weird. He hasn’t talked to Charlie since… probably a month or two after Cas picked him up at the police station. She was upset of Dean’s choice to leave Cas, but she understood—especially with Dean’s family life. He needed to figure things out by himself. He needed to not drag anyone down with him. It was probably best that he didn’t have any close friends at that point in time, and she didn’t even protest when Dean started getting more and more distant from when finally, one day they just… _weren’t_ , anymore.

She hums her agreement, and then it’s quiet for ten whole seconds. Dean’s about to ask what the hell she called for when she says, “Hey, I… I need to talk to you. About Cas.”

Dean stiffens visibly, and he stays absolutely silent, and Charlie senses his discomfort through his unresponsiveness and rushes to make him more comfortable. “It’s nothing about you. Well, I guess it affects you a bit. But it’s something you need to know about him.”

Dean sighs. _Great_ , his mind thinks. _This is great._  

“’Kay,” he sighs. “Hit me.”

And Charlie tells him how, when Dean left, Alastair really hurt Cas—not just mentally, but physically. He fucked up his marks somehow and left scars.

Dean’s pissed.

“He’s going to be really defensive about it, Dean,” Charlie warns. “Whether you guys are friends or not, he’s not going to open up about it any time soon. _I_ don’t even know all the details, and _I_ was the one who took him to the hospital.”

Dean nods in understanding, gritting his teeth. “I’m gonna kill that bastard,” he mutters.

Charlie winces. “I don’t really think—”

But then he sees Alastair, trying to step over the bodies of passed-out teenagers but not trying that hard, because a few fingers get smashed under his shoes, a few disgruntled cries follow where he steps. When he sees Alastair, and he’s suddenly reminded of earlier in the week when he had purposely run into Cas and sent his books sprawling. He’s reminded of Cas’ angry and desperate voice telling him _the only reason Alastair didn't try to attack me was because he knew I was under your watch. You want to know what happened when that wasn't true anymore?_

And Dean’s fucking angry.

“Charlie, he’s here now,” Dean says, and he’s itching to hang up the phone, but for a different reason now. “Hold that thought.”

“Dean,” Charlie says, and her voice is like a hand, reaching out and pulling him backwards. “Don’t fight him. Cas wouldn’t want you to.”

“’s what I came here for tonight, Charlie,” Dean says, and mentally pulls out of her grasp. “And Cas doesn’t have to know.” He hangs up the phone without another word.

And he’s just drunk enough that he screws the cap to his flask, steps towards Alastair, and shoves him backwards.

\---

Fighting someone who’s sober while you’re drunk turns out to not be as brilliant an idea as Dean originally thought. He’s holding a bloody wad of tissues to his nose and he was able to wash most of the blood out of his shirt when he was patching himself up in the bathroom afterwards. Alastair left Dean on the floor after punching him in the stomach, after gripping his collarbone so tightly that he fell to his knees in pain. Alastair didn’t even have a scratch on him.

The crowd that stood around watching the fight had been four rows deep, and not one of them stopped to help Dean afterwards.

Soon after, Dean left the party. The wet spots on his t-shirt from where he rinsed the blood out are cold against his skin, especially in the December weather. Maybe a t-shirt and sweatpants weren’t the best idea for sub-zero weather.

Dean can’t go home, not after getting drunk and losing a fight. Being drunk his father might understand, but losing a fight is something he wouldn’t tolerate.

\---

He’s in Cas’ backyard before he even remembers himself, staring up the tree that he’s climbed so many times. He used to do this when they were friends. When things would get bad at home he’d just sneak out and walk to Cas’ place. He guesses it’s just second-nature, but he hasn’t done this in so long—two years.

He didn’t want to wake anyone but Cas, so he often just climbed the tree that led straight to Cas’ bedroom window, on the second floor.

There’s nowhere else he can go. Well, he could sleep on the streets, but he doesn’t want to die and he _does_ want to see Cas. In his alcohol-addled brain, those seem like two very good reasons that he should do it.

Climbing a tree while drunk isn’t an easy affair, and he falls once from the lowest branch and almost falls twice more after that. But he does eventually make it, pushing in the bedroom window with his foot and then diving in, feet first.

The lights are off inside, and so are the lights to the rest of the house. Cas’ father must be on another signing tour, and Cas must still be out with Charlie and that little freshman guy that he sees hanging around them. He remembers seeing Cas in the art room, talking on the phone. He had been trying to work up the courage to go inside, but he also wanted to see what Cas had been working on. Cas was a skilled artist, Dean remembers. He had his art in school shows—odd little works that were strange but beautiful. Much like Cas is himself.

Dean makes himself comfortable on the futon that he remembers he and Cas dragged in off the street and into his bedroom. His father had been confused, wondering why they would drag in a used and dirty futon from unknown origins when Chuck could have easily bought him a new one. But Cas refused, saying that they would keep the one they had. It was something they had done themselves, and they were proud of it.

Dean is surprised Cas still has it here.

He doesn’t move to close the window, or turn on the lights. He stays there in the dark, occasionally taking sips from the flask and enjoying the burn down his throat.

\---

Dean feels a dopey smile spread across his face as soon as he hears Cas shut the door and enter his house. He should be coming up here soon, and Dean’s excited.

He glances over when a cold breeze from the still-open window makes him shiver, and he considers getting up and closing it when he hears Cas’ voice.

“Dean, what the hell?”

Dean’s head lolls to the side, and he smiles even wider at the sight of Cas. “Heeeeya, Cas,” he says.

“Holy…” Castiel breathes, rushing to fuss over Dean. He kneels down, holding Dean’s face gently between his hands, searching for damage. “Are you hurt?” Cas asks, and Dean thinks he hears a little bit of panic in his voice, but it must only be his imagination. He must have realized from Dean’s tone, his words, that Dean’s drunk. Cas knows him so well.

“Nah,” Dean lies. He wants to lean into the touch, but that’s when Cas pulls his hands away, and Dean feels cold at the loss of Cas’ warm hands.

“How’d you get in here?” Cas demands, and if Cas had been panicking before, he’s definitely all business now, angry and annoyed, and Dean doesn’t really like this change.

His look to the window is his reply.

“You came in through the window?” Cas says, his tone shocked and a little angry. “What the hell have you been drinking?”

Dean exhales his breath in a raspberry, which he thinks is just hilarious as hell, chuckling a little bit. “It was beer at first, but I think it was the scotch that got me,” he says, and then laughs.

Cas stands up, sighing heavily. Dean doesn’t like that his face is so far away from Dean’s now, and he wants it back. “Dean, why are you here?” Cas asks tiredly.

 _Because I’ve been an asshole these last two years but now I want to see you because I realized I’m still in love with you_. “Whaaat, can’t I visit my ol’ friend Castiel Shurley?” he says nonchalantly. He takes Cas’ hand and pats it, realizing how soft his skin is, how long and slender his fingers are. Cas has nice hands.

“Dean, be serious,” Castiel says.

Be serious? Even more serious than he’s already being? There is absolutely nothing _un_ -serious about the last thing Dean said. Maybe Dean should mimic Cas, because Cas is always serious. “We need to talk,” he says, making his voice deep and gravelly, and it sounds ridiculous even to his own ears, and he bursts out laughing.

Cas gives another long-suffering sigh. “About what?” he asks, and he sounds annoyed so Dean tries to compose himself.

Dean takes Cas’ wrist and starts pulling him down. “Sit sit sit sit sit,” he says, trying to get Cas next to him on the futon. Cas gracefully tumbles down next to Dean, and then Dean puts his head on Cas’ shoulder. He doesn’t really realize that he’s done it until a few moments later, when Cas sighs, “What do you want, Dean?”

 _Cas sure sighs a lot_ , Dean thinks to himself. But he ignores it, because it’s not that big a deal.

“Wanted to see you,” Dean mumbles, almost as if he’s hoping Cas won’t hear what he’s said. There’s a lot of confessions wrapped up in that one sentence, and he really hopes Cas doesn’t try to read into them. He pulls at the strings of his sweatpants, tying and untying them together.

It’s a while before Cas asks, “Why are you drunk, again?” he asks, and he sounds a little less annoyed than before, but not by much. Maybe Dean’s just imagining it. Too hopeful.

Dean pulls out the flask, chuckling, and unscrews the cap. “You know what this is?” he asks.

Cas huffs a sound that sounds like his annoyance returning. “A future in crippling alcoholism?” he snarks.

“Liquid courage,” Dean corrects, laughing softly at Cas’ answer before taking a swig.

It’s not the truth. He knows it’s not, but he doesn’t want to tell Cas the real reason he got drunk.

The room is silent again while Dean works out what he wants to say, and, he guesses, that he’ll just apologize. Start at the beginning.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly, and the sound bounces off the walls before returning to Dean’s ears. The sound is hollow and empty, and he hopes that’s not how it sounds to Cas’ ears. He hopes it sounds sincere, like a promise.

“For what?” Cas asks, and he sounds surprised that Dean apologized at all.

“For leaving you,” he explains. “For letting Alastair hurt you.”

Cas immediately knows what Dean is talking about, and suddenly Dean regrets the last part of that apology. Dean shouldn’t know that information. Shit. He fucked up. God, why can’t he just keep his mouth shut? He should have left it at “for leaving you.” End of story, bottom line. God, he’s such an _idiot_.

“How did you know about that?” Castiel growls, and sort of scares Dean that Cas is so sweet normally but can still be the cruelest motherfucker when someone pisses him off.

Dean swallows. “I talked to Charlie,” he says quietly.

“You talked to—?” Cas cuts himself off, leans forward and puts his head in his hands. “Fuck,” he curses quietly, and his voice is full of embarrassment, full of regret. Dean rushes to console him, even if it might be unwanted.

“Cas don’t worry,” Dean assures. “Hear me out.”

Castiel sighs—again. “Fine.”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” he says again. “I’m sorry I left you. I fucked up, I… I feel like shit for doin’ it, Cas.”

Castiel scoffs.

“I _do_ ,” Dean insists. He huffs an exasperated sigh—why won’t Cas believe him? Does he really distrust Dean _that_ _much_? “You were my responsibility, and I let those assholes hurt you—”

“I’m not your responsibility,” Cas interjects.

“Yes, you are, Cas, you _are_ ,” Dean presses. “I fucked up. I thought I was doin’ good and I was just hurtin’ you, and I didn’t know how bad it’d gotten.”

There's a beat of silence. Dean takes Cas’ wrist in his hand, drawing small circles with his thumb around the pulse. He can feel the little heartbeat, and it’s comforting until Cas pulls his arm away, to which Dean sighs.

“What do you want, Dean?” Castiel asks, trying to subtly shift away, and even though Dean’s drunk, he’s not stupid.

 _I want you to want me_ , Dean pleads silently to his soulmate. _To want me like I want you_.

“Want you,” Dean decides, which isn’t the whole truth but not entirely untrue.

“Okay,” Cas says, and it sounds like he’s saying the words through gritted teeth. “I guess you have me.”

Oh. Cas thinks that Dean just wants him for sex, or something like that. Cas thinks he wants Cas, wants to _use_ Cas.

That is so far from the truth.

Dean wants all of Cas. He wants him in the mornings with his hair fussed up like an errant cowlick. He wants Cas reading a book next to Dean as they lie in bed. He wants Cas to lean his head against his shoulder when they’re at the movies together. He wants all of Cas—the good, the bad, the ugly.

“No,” Dean says. “Don’t understand. I want _you_.” _You, and only you. Every single part of you. Silly you, funny you, happy you, sad you, all of you._

He doesn’t really expect Castiel to shove him away, but he guesses it’s his own fault for not anticipating the bad outcome of all of this.

“How dare you, Dean Winchester, how _dare_ you—” Castiel is saying, and Dean’s not really sure if Castiel knows he’s saying his thoughts out loud. Cas is standing, towering over Dean, who is lying crumpled-up on the futon.

“You need to go,” Castiel says, and he’s definitely aware that he said that last part out loud.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean pleads. “And I want to be with you. Why don’t you believe me?”

“When you’re sober—” Cas starts.

“Goddammit, Cas, I _know_ what I’m saying!” Dean says desperately, angrily. “I’m sorry—I’ve been sorry since the second I walked away from you in that hallway.”

“Why’d it take you this long to say it, then?” Cas retorts.

 _Because you never gave me the chance._ “Cas, come on. I said I was sorry.”

“And I don’t believe you!” Castiel yells at him, and it scares Dean so much that it almost makes him curl up into a ball. This isn’t Cas. This is Castiel, the righteous, furious angel that his parents named him after, and Dean is the object of his rage right now.

“I’m taking you home,” Castiel says softly, his mind made up. “Right now.”

And Dean panics.

“No!” he says frantically, fucking _flailing_ off the couch in an attempt to get closer to Cas, to make him understand. He crawls forward and clasps Cas’ wrists, trying to get his attention.

“No, please don’t let him see me like this,” Dean begs, and it strikes him that he’s literally begging on his knees in front of Cas, but he doesn’t have a shred of dignity left inside of him to really give a shit.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel says coldly, and he tries to pull out of Dean’s bruising grasp, but he refuses to let up.

“He’s—he’s already pissed at me, Cas, please,” Dean says. God, he can’t even say John’s name. How pathetic _is_ he?

“Don’t make me go back there tonight,” he says softly.

“What are you—oh,” Cas says, the realization of what Dean’s talking about finally hitting him.

“Oh, Dean,” Castiel says, and his voice is suddenly soft and sympathetic.

“I-I told him about the soulmate thing,” Dean babbles, even though he knows Castiel already understands he can’t stop talking now. “He didn’t really—he didn’t really take to it. He’s been a dick these past few days.”

He closes his eyes and remembers how John yelled at him for not getting at least a B in his English class when he grades were mailed in for the semester, for letting the whiskey run out. How John locked him outside of the house, Dean worried that he’d freeze outside in the cold weather overnight.

“That’s why I got drunk, Cas.” _Or, at least,_ part _of why I got drunk_. “I just—I wanted to see you, I—shit, I’m sorry, I screwed up again, I fucked it up, I—”

“Dean,” Castiel says, his voice soft and soothing. He grips the front of his shirt and coaxes him to his feet, and Dean immediately buries his face into Cas’ neck, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Dean, Dean, it’s okay. I won’t make you go back.”

It’s like a goddamned miracle.

Dean wraps his arms around Cas in a loose, grateful hug. “Thank you,” Dean murmurs into Cas’ ear. Cas shivers. When Cas starts carding his fingers through the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck, he does his best to not lean into the touch, to let his head fall back and to bare his neck and hum appreciatively. It would be too much.

But Dean really, really wants to kiss Castiel.

“Cas, can I…?” Dean pulls back, his eyes darting from Cas’ lips and back up to his eyes.

“Can you what?” he asks, and then realizes what Dean means. He blushes, just a little, in the poor lighting of the room. “Oh. Uh, not while you’re drunk.”

Dean nods. He gets it. It’s a little gross to kiss someone while you’re drunk, and for Cas… it’s definitely too much, too soon. So he gives Castiel’s arms a gentle squeeze before pulling away and trying to move back to the futon, but he trips and lands half on the couch and half on the floor. Somewhere behind him, Castiel laughs good-naturedly.

“That was not your best moment,” Castiel says, before he gently shoves Dean back up onto the futon.

Cas sits down and Dean tiredly puts his head in Cas’ lap. He falls asleep to Cas gently running his fingers through his hair, sinking into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Islands.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Q7QkZRaSuI)


	15. Ramble On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh GOD I've been working on this chapter for-fucking-ever. Sorry it took so long, lovelies!  
> Warnings for basically being in Dean's head, and all the shit that comes along with it, and all that drinking stuff. God, there's a lot of drinking going on.
> 
> Again, if you find any spelling/grammar errors, please leave a comment and show me what I did wrong. It's all a work in progress, my friends!

When Dean wakes up in the morning, he’s half sure that he’s in hell, because that’s the only logical explanation for the splitting pain in his skull that demands his full attention. It seems to start from behind his eyelids, like the pressure is trying to push his eyes out of his skull. His mouth tastes and feels disgusting, and the room feels like it’s moving while Dean is staying stationary, and it’s fucking him up a lot. His stomach is feeling not so great, either.

Fuck, what did he drink last night?

His hangover hasn’t been this bad since… God, not since…

\---

** FOUR MONTHS AGO: **

_Lisa Braeden and Dean have been going out for about two and a half months now, when Dean finally gets the courage to tell her to come over for dinner at his home one night. She smiles at him and agrees immediately, and the butterflies in Dean's stomach settle just slightly._

_It’s the first time that Dean’s ever had the courage to invite someone over, because of where he lives and who his father is. But Dean cleans incessantly—gets rid of the empty bottles of alcohol, vacuums the carpet, sweeps, etc.—and the place looks pretty respectable for a lower-middle-class family-owned apartment._

_Lisa shows up at around six-thirty, about fifteen minutes early. Dean’s father is out for the night, at a bar. Dean promised to cook for Lisa, and the elaborate dinner he’d had planned out immediately goes out the window when Lisa turns to him as he sets the water to boil. There’s a sadness and hardness to her gaze, and Dean can tell that there’s bad new coming._

_“We need to talk,” Lisa says firmly._

_Dean immediately tenses, worst-case scenarios lapping at the edge of his mind like the ocean tide running over his bare feet. He tries to focus on something else, and he starts busying himself with grabbing all the ingredients he can from the pantry. “Mmhm, what about?” He mentally high-fives himself for acting so smooth._

_“Dean,” she says. “You care about me, right?”_

_He nearly drops the olive oil into the hot water, the question surprises him so much. “Of course,” Dean says, baffled. “Why would you think that I don’t?”_

_“And I know you wouldn’t want to hurt me,” she says, instead of answering him. Her jaw is set hard, her arms crossed over her chest like a shield._

_“You know I wouldn’t,” Dean says, setting the pasta box on the counter and stepping over to her, reaching out to gently hold her upper arms, steadying himself more than her. “Lis, what is this about?”_

_She chews on her bottom lip, averting her eyes. “I think we should break up.”_

_It feels like a punch in the stomach. The comment is so out of the blue that Dean feels like he has whiplash. They’d—what had Dean done wrong? Because he was sure as hell that he’d done everything by the fucking book. He spent time with her, he went on dates with her, and here he was, fucking cooking her dinner --_

_“Did I… did I do something wrong?” Dean asks, voice quiet._

_“No, Dean,” Lisa reassures. “Well…” she says, as if reconsidering._

_“Well, what?” Dean asks, a little less kindly this time._

_“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” she says. “Someone that you…”_

_The accusation makes Dean’s stomach drop. “You think I’m cheating on you?” he asks, disgusted by the very implication of it. “Lisa, you know I wouldn’t ever—”_

_“I never said you’re with someone else,” she says quickly. “I just said that there is someone else. Someone you’re thinking about. Someone you want to see, more than you want to see me.”_

_Oh. Dean guesses that that’s…_ slightly _better? Not really, though—he’s still kinda pissed._

_“I’m… Lisa, really, there’s no one.” He’s so confused. Someone else? Had he not given her his undivided attention? Had he not been good enough? He kinda wishes that she would stop with the bullshit and just say that Dean’s got too much baggage to be a good boyfriend._

_“I guess you don’t even know it yet,” she says, and her tone is_ actually _sympathetic, and for a second Dean kinda believes that she’s being sincere. “I know what that look is, Dean. I know you. Whenever we’re together anymore, it’s like you’re miles away. You’re somewhere else. With someone else.”_

_Dean can’t possibly think of who she means. There’s no one, not anyone he’s had his eye on, except for…_

_No. That’s impossible. Dean severed ties with him months ago, he’s had time to get over it. A year, almost two. He’s over it. He is._

_“It’s fine, Dean,” she says, smiling sadly. “I’m not angry. Whether you know it or not, you just want to be with someone else. Besides, we weren’t going to last much longer anyway. We’re not soulmates.” She takes her left arm and rolls up the sleeve, exposing her marks._

_And she’s not wrong._

_Right. He’s meeting his soulmate, soon. He got his letter on his eighteenth birthday, in January. It’s been hardly a distraction, hardly a reason to not be together. Until now, apparently._

_“Honestly, I’d be with you if I didn’t really believe this. You’re… kinda perfect, actually,” she says, and smiles at him._

_“O-okay,” he stutters, kinda confused. But who is he to stop someone if they want to break up? It’s not like it’s a group decision._

_“Good luck, Dean,” she says, and kisses him on the cheek. “I have to go, but call me sometime, okay? We can hang out.”_

_She grabs her coat and purse, and she’s out of the apartment as soon as she arrived. He doesn’t want to judge, but he wishes she would have done this before she agreed to come over to his apartment. Now he has a giant pot of pasta waiting to be tended to, and there’s no way he can prepare it now knowing that the person he made it for doesn’t want to be around him anymore, because he’s so distant._

_Dean has no idea how he’s going to explain this to his father. He knows that John likes Lisa, because she’s gorgeous and smart and not afraid of Dean like the other girls in his class—because Dean comes from a less-than-rich neighborhood, because he wears a leather jacket, because he doesn’t talk to anyone else, because he sometimes comes to school with bruises gracing his cheekbone. Dean’s mysterious, he’s a ‘bad boy’._

_Well, Dean pays half the rent. The leather jacket is a hand-me-down from his father. He’s shy, reserved, even though he’s loud with his friends—which aren’t many, these days. And the bruises aren’t from any street fight, like his classmates may think. Just the ones in his living room._

_Maybe if they had gotten together sooner, Dean would have told her all that._

_Probably not, though. There was only one person who knew all of that and stuck around. Only one person who listened to all his problems and didn’t leave him because they didn’t know what to do with an arrogant, loud-mouth semi-asshole teenage boy with daddy and abandonment issues._

_And honestly, how could he blame all the rest? Who would_ want _to handle someone like that?_

_Apparently Castiel Shurley, because that was the only person who decided to stick around. Even Charlie doesn’t know the whole story. She knows most, but not all—not the part where he pays half the rent just to stay in an actual structure. Not the part where his mother took Sam and ran. Not the part where his dad drinks so much he doesn’t even recognize Dean sometimes._

_It’s hard not to think of Cas on days like these, when Dean wants nothing more than to fall apart and have it be okay, because he doesn’t have to worry about picking up the pieces all by himself. Things are getting worse with his father, instead of better. School is getting harder. It’s looking more and more like Dean’s not going to get a good scholarship to get into college, and why would he? He’s pretty average, with average grades. Just like the rest of him—average. Something that everyone should overlook. He’s not an extreme in any way—not really smart, but not really dumb. Someone that’s just passed from one to the next, because he doesn’t deserve special attention._

_He feels Cas’ absence like a wound in his heart, like he can’t be fully happy or positive unless he’s with Castiel again. The real, good Castiel, the one that spends Friday nights watching old movies with him. The Castiel that either unlocks or keeps his window open for Dean in case he has to climb through. The Castiel that takes his tea the same way Dean takes his coffee. The Castiel that paid him attention just for being who he is._

That _Castiel. The one that Dean fell in love with._

_Dean sighs and dumps the pasta down the sink. He’s not hungry. Instead, he wanders into the pantry for a different reason. He’s pretty sure that his dad’s got some wine in the back, or something._

_For the first time ever, Dean lets the rumors that the kids school share become true. He drinks himself to sleep._

\---

He bolts to the bathroom, somehow managing not to run into anything too important or breakable. After emptying the contents of his stomach, he decides that Scotch burns just as much going down as it does coming back up, just tastes worse.

He guesses that he deserves this.

Throwing up makes him shake and there’s a cold sweat covering his body. He kneels there for a few more minutes, trying to get a fucking grip on himself.

He returns to the bedroom for not really any reason except to see if Cas is there, and finds that he isn’t. In one sense he’s disappointed, but he understands in another. Castiel must have slept in the guest room or something.

Dean walks in to the kitchen downstairs to find him sitting at the breakfast bar, pouring hot water into a mug where he has one of those weird-ass loose leaf tea strainers shaped like a little metal robot. Dean would tease him night and day about those fucking things, which he ordered off the internet, because he’s a fucking nerd that way.

He shuffles across the kitchen and plops himself down at the bar on the other side of Cas, folding his arms and hiding his face in them.

“Jesus Christ, I am never drinking again,” he says, because he wants to be diplomatic with Cas, so he tries for meaningless, mindless conversation.

“Did you know,” Castiel starts, and this is the classic setup for a Cas “Fun” Fact in which he’s the only one that thinks it’s fun and everyone else doesn’t exactly care but listens anyway.  “A hangover is basically not enough water in your system to complete your citric acid cycle. Which is why your mouth is so dry. Which also happens when you're extremely dehydrated. So, technically, you're dying of thirst.” Dean hears the sound of water running from the tap, the sound of a glass being filled.

“I suggest you drink this,” he says a second later, and pushes the glass towards Dean. Dean looks up and sees Cas looking down at him, not hostilely like he usually does, and Dean takes that as a major breakthrough.

“Yes, thank you, Charles,” Dean deadpans, accepting the glass and taking a minuscule sip.

Cas tilts his head at him, something Dean has equated to that of a confused puppy. A really cute puppy.

“Who is ‘Charles’?”

Dean stares at him with disbelief and mild disappointment. “ _A Beautiful Mind_? Come on, Cas, really?”

Cas stares at him and eventually asks if his stomach is okay while groping the counter for the tea bowl. Dean slides it over to him.

“Yeah,” Dean says conversationally, “threw up in the bathroom before I came down here. Should be fine.”

Castiel isn’t convinced and tries to make Dean drink more water, which Dean refuses in favor of coffee.

It takes convincing, but finally Cas sighs and rolls his eyes again, giving in to Dean’s demand with a sarcastic “Yes, Your Majesty,” and it’s the happiest Dean’s been in two years.

“Not too strong,” Dean says quickly as Cas starts piling the coffee grounds into the filter.

“I know the damn drill,” Castiel says defensively. “You are the backseat driver of breakfast foods.”

Dean can live with that title. “And proud of it,” he says smugly. He watches patiently while the coffee maker steams and whirs, and when it’s finished, he pours a cup.

“No cream, just—” he starts.

"Two sugars," Cas interrupts. He glances up to make eye contact and then glances down again. “I remember.”

The last part is softly said, almost a whisper. It sounds like forgiveness.

Dean clears his throat after a long, surprisingly comfortable silence. “Mind if I take a shower?” Dean asks, his voice a little hoarse. “I feel gross.”

“You _look_ gross,” Castiel counters, and Dean stares back at him with what he hopes in an unimpressed expression.

Dean scoffs to recover himself. “You’re one to talk,” he replies. “And I’ll take that as a yes.” He pushes himself away from the counter and hops off the barstool, making his way to the bathroom.

“Towels are in the hallway closet,” Castiel calls after him. “Hey, and throw your clothes in the hamper and I’ll get you some clean ones!”

“Will do,” he calls back. “And leave my coffee alone!” he adds as a second thought. He can hear when Cas pushes it across the counter, and smiles smugly to himself.

\---

The shower is pleasantly warm and the water pressure is amazing, but the tension in Dean’s muscles refuses to ease up. He rolls his shoulders under the spray, feeling the water pat-pat-patter down his back. He washes his hair three times, scrubs his skin until it’s red and the hot water stings his raw flesh. The bruise blossoming across his chest aches satisfyingly when he runs the washcloth over it, purposely too hard.

He still feels filthy.

\---

The mirror is fogged up when Dean gets out of the shower. He swipes at it to make it clear, his reflection staring back at him. His skin gives off a reddish glow from scrubbing it so vigorously. He takes a towel and starts drying his hair.

There’s a light knock on the door.

The knock startles him, and he rushes to wipe himself somewhat dry and wrap the towel around his waist.

Dean opens the door to find Cas holding a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt in his arms, holding it out to Dean like a bearing of gifts.

“I threw your clothes from yesterday into the washer because they were disgusting,” he says bluntly.

“Thanks,” Dean says, flashing a brief smile before he turns to go change.

“Wait,” Cas says, putting a hand on the door to keep it open.

“Hm?” Dean asks, and then sees Cas staring at his shoulder. His bruise. “Oh, that's…”

Cas touches the bruise lightly with his fingertips, Dean having to hold back the shudder that threaten to sweep its way up his spine. Dean moves to cover it up with a hand, realizing too late that his fingers are bruised and his knuckles scabbed over.

‘Fuck,” he curses quietly. There’s no way he can talk his way out of this one.

Cas’ next words are too calm; it’s unsettling, and Dean knows he’s in big fucking trouble. “You said you weren't hurt last night.”

Dean rubs the back of his neck nervously. “Yeah, I, uh.”

“What happened?” he demands, clutching Dean’s bruised hand, making them ache. Dean pulls them away gently. “Was it your father?”

“What? No, _no_ ,” Dean says quickly. “No, it was nothing like that.”

“Then _what_ , Dean?” Castiel presses.

As if Cas doesn’t already know. He had to stop Dean from beating the shit out of anyone who looked at Cas funny before, it’s not like Dean’s changed all that fucking much.

“I got into a fight, alright?”

“With whom?” Castiel asks angrily.

Dean’s 98% sure that Castiel already knows the answer. He shifts nervously on his feet, looking to the ground, the wall, the door. Anywhere but Cas’ face.

“Alastair,” he says quietly.

“Was this before or after you talked to Charlie?” he says readily, confirming Dean’s suspicion.

“Cas, I don’t want to talk about this half-naked,” Dean says meanly, turning away to retreat to the bathroom. For a moment he thinks he’s won, until Castiel catches his shoulder, turning him back around. His hand slips from the dampness of Dean’s skin, and there’s a fire that ignites inside of Dean. He wants that hand to stay there. He wants to grab it and kiss each of his fingers, to kiss up his arm and kiss his marks.

“Answer the question,” Castiel demands.

“I don’t—” Dean argues.

“ _Dean_.”

Dean stares, knowing that he’s trapped and has to answer. The way he says Dean’s name is enough, and that’s when he realizes that he’s totally fucked for the rest of his life if that keeps up.

“After,” he says shortly. He clenches his jaw again, looking away. “So what?”

“So what? Was it because…?” he trails off, but Dean knows the rest of that sentence.

“Because Charlie told me Alastair fucking—fucking _physically scarred_ you after I left?” Dean says, exasperated, scared, and really fucking angry at himself. “Yeah, maybe. So? What do you care?”

It’s an unfair question, but Dean didn’t learn to fight fair. And when he’s with Castiel, he fucking throws away the rule book and gives everything he has, because he knows he’ll need it when Castiel decides to fight back.

“What do _I_ care?” Castiel asks, his tone almost offended. He snatches his hand away from Dean’s shoulder like he couldn’t bear to touch him anymore. “What do you mean, what do I care? You got hurt, of course I care.”

Cas’ tone is so sympathetic, so innocent and confused. Dean’s chest feels tight with the perfect ache of love, something that he squashes down yet again. Now is not the time.

“Well, I dunno, Cas, you haven't given a shit about me for the past two years, why should you start now?” Dean shoots back, shrugging his shoulders as if to say, _What can you do?_ “Old habits die hard, right?”

“I have _always_ cared, Dean Winchester,” Castiel answers. “I never stopped caring.”

Dean huffs a bitter laugh. “You replaced me soon enough.”

He can’t believe that he’s actually saying the words coming out of his mouth. He could never be resentful towards Charlie. But of course he’s trying to push Castiel away, again, because that’s what he does. Hurt Castiel, to protect Castiel.

“Charlie was not a replacement,” Cas growls. “She had been with us even before we went our separate ways. And _you_ were the one that told me to leave you alone. You told me you’d come back, and you didn’t. That is _not_ my fault.”

“I was trying to get my space!” The old argument. The old excuse. He expects the fight to be over as soon as he says it, but Cas surprises him.

“ _Why_?" Castiel bursts, and Dean’s eyes widen in surprise, because they’ve never gotten this far in the conversation.

“Because you were tired of me? Because you were embarrassed to be seen with me? Because I was a fucking loser that was going to destroy your social status?"

“What? No, of course not,” Dean tries to assure him, because what the fuck? Does Cas really believe that?

“Why the hell would you think that?” he continues.

“Because that's what everyone else thought!” Castiel yells. “That’s why everyone else left me—because I was a freak!”

Dean heart fucking _shatters._ He should have known that this would happen, that Cas would get hurt even with the clean break he tried so hard to do. Of course it wouldn’t work, because nothing Dean does ever fucking works.

“I didn’t fucking leave you because of that,” he says helplessly. Oh, God, please don’t make him say it.

“Then _why_ , Dean?” Cas yells at him, and his voice cracks on his name, but he keeps going. “You tell me to leave and then never call me back and you expect me to think there’s not some underlying reason you’re not telling me? What are you keeping from me? What are you so afraid to tell me?”

It’s too much. It’s too much. Dean wants to cry, because he hates himself for this. He hates what he did to Cas, he hates how he did it. “Because you were too fucking good for me, goddammit!” he snaps, the tears forming in his eyes.

Castiel stares at him for probably a solid minute. “What do you…?”

“I mean, look at you, Cas," Dean say, gesturing helplessly at him, his clothes, his eyes, his fucking beautiful face. “You’re rich. You’re smart. You’re funny. You’re fucking nice. You’re going to fucking _Yale_. On a _scholarship_.” _You’re too fucking good for me._

Castiel looks confused and lost, and maybe a little bit sad. “What does that have to do with—?”

“And I’m—” Dean runs a hand over his face, trying to push back the tears. “I used to lay all my problems on you, even though it was never your job to fix them. I’m not smart. I’m an asshole. Hell, you fucking bailed me out of jail, and I didn't even say ‘hey, thanks.’”

“You didn’t have to,” he says softly.

“Yeah, I did, Cas,” Dean argues. He’s so close to crying that it’s almost inevitable. “I should have.”

“Then say it now.”

“It wouldn’t count,” Dean says, and he wishes he could tell Cas about last night, about the two guys, the reason why Dean won’t let himself have this, the reason why he doesn’t deserve this.

Castiel smiles for real now; small and sad. It makes Dean feel even guiltier. “I think that's my call to make,” Cas says.

Dean’s tempted to argue further, because Cas obviously doesn’t seem to understand. If Dean says this, Cas will forgive him, and Dean doesn’t deserve that, no matter how much he wants it.

But this is what Cas wants, too. Two sides of his head clash together—do what Dean deserves, or do what Cas wants?

“Cas, thank you,” Dean says immediately.

“It’s okay,” Cas finally says.

_No, it’s not._

He almost regrets his decision, because he really doesn’t deserve this, he doesn’t. Dean just wants to go home and curl up in his bed and face his pounding hangover headache, let that be punishment enough for what he did to Cas, last night and two years ago. He’s angry at himself but also lights up inside when Cas smiles tentatively at him.

“Will you let me get dressed now?” Dean says tiredly. He just wants to get dressed and go home, that’s all he wants. He can’t face this right now.

“Wait,” Castiel says, and catches his wrist before he can go. “Can we… can we start over? Everything, all the baggage—forgotten?”

It’s too good to be true. It’s all Dean’s ever wanted, and he knows he doesn’t deserve it. But Cas looks so sincere. He means it. He wants this, too. So Dean smiles and thrusts out his hand for a handshake. “Hi, the name's Dean Winchester,” he grins.

Cas smiles—almost shyly, the cute bastard—and takes Dean’s hand, shaking once. “Castiel Shurley, pleased to meet you.”

“Like the author,” Dean prompts, because he’s a big sap and he remembers everything from their first meeting. He just hopes Cas does, too.

Cas laughs, and it’s a sound sweeter than music. “Very much like the author.”

Dean thinks that if he smiled any wider, his lip would split. But then suddenly a scent from the kitchen hits his nose, and he contorts his face in the effort to think about what that smell is—

“Dean, what’s wrong?” Castiel says. He sounds worried at the sudden change to Dean’s expression.

“Did you make… pancakes?” Dean asks. He smells the air again. Oh, God, he’s sure of it. Pancakes come second to pie and burgers in his world, and if they’re blueberry flavored, he’s going to be a very happy guy.

Castiel laughs again. “Indeed,” he confirms.

Dean nearly groans in approval. “You are a _saint_ , Castiel Shurley,” Dean says, and saunters off to Cas’ bedroom to get redressed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Ramble On.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DW5ZLyY9w0Y)


	16. Laugh, I Nearly Died

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so yeah here's the smut that the rating of this story has been promising. I am so ashamed, this is literally the first "successful" smut scene I've written (and by successful I mean I actually finished it and didn't scrap it halfway through writing it). Oh God. If you're not a Bottom Dean fan, you're going to have a tough time with this. There's going to be Top Dean later in this fic, however... I am a strong believer that they can switch.  
> ANYWAY. As always, leave a comment, tell me if there're any spelling errors, etc. I love you all, thanks for being patient with me as I just throw this trash at you every two weeks and expect you to read it. You're all the greatest.

The week leading up to Christmas is pretty fucking enjoyable. He spends the time he can with Cas, Charlie, and Kevin, who, he finds out, is a fucking genius and kind of like an over-caffeinated Chihuahua—energetic, more than a little skittish, possibly rabid.

The day before Christmas Eve is when Cas calls him at Bobby’s garage—where Dean works sporadically when Bobby needs an extra set of hands—to invite him over to a New Year’s party, which makes him elated and sad at the same time, when Sam and his mom are mentioned, but Dean doesn’t give more than a 10-sentence explanation and then asks if he can bring Jo along, because he wants someone who will distract him from Cas, and Jo knows fucking everything about Dean, so she’ll know when he needs his attention somewhere else.

When Dean mentions bringing her, he can feel Cas’ change in mood and hear it in his tone, but he doesn’t mention it. Instead, Cas just says that he can’t wait, Dean says he can’t either, and they hang up.

\---

It’s really fucking cold on Christmas Eve, the kind of cold that actually bites, nipping at your exposed skin and driving you inside to shelter.

Ellen, Jo, Bobby, and Ash invite Dean and John over for a party, but John doesn’t go, saying that he doesn’t feel up for it. Dean doesn’t give him shit for it, because he knows that Ellen pretty much only invited John because she invited Dean.

He drives to the Roadhouse in Dad’s Impala, which is basically the only nice thing that they have. The drive there is about two hours upstate, but Dean’s happy to make the drive, because it means that he’ll probably be staying the night instead of going back home at some ungodly hour. It makes Dean feel lighter, and by the time he gets there, he wound up like a fucking toy soldier, full of energy and ready to go.

The place is lit up but the sign on the door says that it’s closed for the holidays. Dean lets himself in and is greeted like Norm from _Cheers_ , everyone turning welcoming him warmly. Ellen makes him eat until he’s nearly positive that he’ll explode if he eats another bite, and then she brings out fresh-baked apple pie, and, well.

Then there’s presents. Dean took the easy way out and bought everyone gift cards, but it seems his adopted family went all-out on him—his gifts including new flannel shirts from Jo, a pair of boots from Ellen, a bottle of whiskey from Bobby (which Ellen confiscates), and an ounce of weed from Ash (which Ellen also confiscates).

Then comes the chatting-stage of the party, in which most people just lounge around, ask people questions, and that’s when everyone starts asking questions about who his soulmate is, and what’s he like, and when are we going to meet him, and after a while Dean gets tired of the who twenty questions thing and goes to escape in the back rooms of the Roadhouse, in the employee break-room.

After a few seconds of deliberating, Dean calls Cas on his phone, hoping he’ll answer and hoping this isn’t a bad idea.

He answers on the fourth ring.

“ _Just a sec, Dean,_ ” Cas’ voice says, a dull roar of chatter in the background, and Dean’s heart immediately warms and waits for Cas to speak again.

“ _Hey_ ,” Castiel says, once the chatter has disappeared, and Dean smiles into the phone, even though Cas can’t see it.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says.

“ _What's up?_ ” Castiel asks, his tone light and affable. “ _How are you?_ ”

“I’m good,” Dean says, and he really means it. “At a Christmas party. Uncle Bobby’s here. And so are Ellen and Jo and Ash. We’re having an ugly sweater party.” Dean thought that it was a corny idea at first, because seriously? Ugly sweater party? But now it’s become something that Dean loves to hate, in a sense.

“ _I want pictures,_ ” Castiel says immediately, and Dean regrets mentioning it, and tells Cas just as such. To which Cas laughs and tells him it’s too late.

“How are you?” Dean asks, grinning to himself.

“ _I’m alright,_ ” Cas says, and he sounds a little less than alright. Dean perks up immediately, listening intently for any kind of problem, any distress.

“ _Definitely not having as much fun as you are,_ ” he says eventually. “ _All my family does is wait for my father to die so they can inherit his money._ ”

Dean deflates, because it’s nothing he can fix. “That sounds shitty,” he responds.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Cas agrees. “ _I have three cousins I like. Anna, Gabriel, and Balthazar. The rest have sticks up their asses like their parents._ ”

He hums in acknowledgment. “I don't have any cousins,” he says. “Uncle Bobby isn’t really my uncle, just a close family friend. Same with Ellen and Jo. I think of Jo kinda like my sister. Jo’s pretty cool. Probably the only person I know that could kick my ass.”

“ _Besides me,_ ” Cas says, deadpan.

Dean scoffs. “You wish, Shurley,” he says. “And then there’s her mother. Christ, Ellen scares me. But she's fantastic, Cas,” he says fondly. “She likes to pretend she's not all soft.”

“ _Keep talking,_ ” Castiel urges, after Dean waits for Cas’ response. “I like listening.”

Dean chuckles. “Don't have much more to say about this topic.”

“ _Then find another one,_ ” Cas insists. “ _Tell me about something. Someone. Distract me. My family's been driving me up the wall. It's good to hear your voice._ ”

Cas suggests that Dean talk about his mother, but chickens out and makes Cas talk first, about his mother. He hesitantly but fondly reminisces about how she would go on dieting kicks or health kicks but could never keep up the pattern because of her affinity for sweets.

“ _My dad would always complain that it cost too much money for her to be buying all that expensive organic crap anyway,”_ Cas finishes.

“Too much money?” Dean scoffs. The idea that something is too much money to Castiel Shurley, son of an international bestselling author, is just ridiculous. “As if, you guys are loaded.”

Cas chuckles. “ _We weren’t always rich, dork. Mom used to work two jobs before Dad got the book deal. Dad used to work at a grocery store… until he got fired, at least. We had this shitty landlord, Crowley—_ ”

“Landlord?” Dean asks, confused. He must have misheard. Cas couldn’t have lived in an apartment, like Dean, because that’s just impossible. Right?

“ _Yeah, landlord,_ ” Cas says, sounding confused. “ _We used to live in the apartments on the other side of town. Well, off and on. Sometimes we wouldn't make the rent in time and he’d throw us out. We camped out in the car for a few weeks when shit like that happened, up until Dad got his book published and we started getting rich, at least. That was probably a year and half before I met you. Maybe two years._ ”

“You say it like it's no big deal,” Dean says quietly, after a pause.

“ _It isn’t. Well… it was at the time, but it’s over now._ ” He sighs. “ _Why is me not being rich so hard to believe?_ ”

“I dunno, I just… I dunno,” Dean says, frustrated. It’s odd to think of Cas as anything other than rich, because that’s what he built Cas up to be in his mind. It’s, like, 40% of the reason why Dean felt Cas was superior to him, because Dean was this little hoodrat and Cas wore Oxford shirts on a lazy day, because Cas had a wall of book-filled shelves covering one side of his room, and Dean had a bookshelf filled with empty beer bottles.

“I never knew,” Dean finishes lamely. “You never told me.”

“ _I guess I just never mentioned it,_ ” Cas says, offhandedly. “ _Your turn._ ”

Dean’s quiet for a moment, gathering his words. “She was amazing, Cas. She would love that you’re my soulmate, always liked you,” he says, and then realizes an amusing thought. “She would tease me, too.”

“ _Why would she tease you?_ ” Castiel asks.

“Because I’m promised to a fucking nerd,” Dean deadpans, and his heart does this little tap-dance thing because he actually mentioned it.

“ _Says the guy who told me my life was meaningless until I watched the_ Star Wars _trilogy,_ ” Castiel retorts.

“That’s not a nerdy thing to say, that’s just a fact of life,” Dean says, as if it’s an obvious statement. “And don’t pretend you didn’t love it, jerk.”

There’s a silence far from awkward but still a silence nonetheless, and Dean knows that Cas will end the phone call if they have nothing more to say to each other, so Dean says the first thing he can think of.

“They're still married,” Dean blurts.

“ _What?_ ” Cas asks.

“My parents,” Dean explains. “They don’t have enough money to get divorced, so they’re still married.”

“ _You miss her, don’t you?_ ” he whispers.

“Yeah,” Dean agrees softly. “And Sammy, too.”

“ _You should visit them,_ ” Cas says.

Dean laughs humorlessly into the receiver. “They're three states over, Cas, ain’t no way I’m getting on a plane by myself to see them. I have no money.”

“ _Then we'll visit her and Sam. You and I,_ ” Cas says. “ _A road trip. We could go find them._ ”

The gears in Dean’s head grind to a stop. “A road trip?” he parrots.

“ _Yes. This summer_ ,” he suggests.

“I…”

It’s so much. It’s too much, even. They’re no where near that place, near the place where they can sit down and be comfortable with each other again. They made a step, the morning that Dean spent the night at Cas’ house, but that was all it was. A step.

He wants to, though. He just doesn’t know if they should.

“ _Dean? Did I break you?_ ” His tone is trying for humor but is actually concerned, as well. It eases Dean a little bit, but not all the way.

“You sure you want that, Cas?" Dean jokes weakly. “Being in a car with me for days on end?”

“ _As long as I get to pick the music,_ ” Cas says lightly.

“Not a chance,” Dean says, laughing at the absurdity of the idea.

There’s a distant voice on the other side of the line that doesn’t belong to Cas, and then Cas’ voice rumbles quietly in response.

“ _I should get going,_ ” he says into the phone when the exchange is over. “ _We’re gonna open presents now. Merry Christmas, Dean._ ”

“Merry Christmas, Cas,” Dean says in a quiet voice. And he hangs up.

He sends Cas pictures of his family in their hideous sweaters a few minutes later. He can almost feel him laughing.

\---

After the party, spends the night in Ellen’s guest room, and dreams about Cas.

Cas’ hands skimming up Dean’s sides, making him shiver from where he lies naked on the mattress below him. Cas is naked as well, the moonlight streaming in through the blinds on the window making him seem incandescent, his skin almost glowing.

He’s in between Dean’s legs, the bed dipping where he kneels. Dean grins and opens his legs wider in crude invitation, and Cas rolls his eyes fondly and leans down to kiss Dean slowly and deeply, Dean enthusiastically returning it, his hands moving up to fist into Cas’ hair.

Cas groans quietly into the kiss and moves his hands down to cup Dean’s jaw, then his neck, then his shoulders. Finally his hands move lower, stroking his chest, lightly scratching his nails over Dean’s ribcage, which makes Dean gasp into his mouth.

His fingers move even lower, and Cas detaches himself from Dean’s mouth, a wicked smile on his lips as he slides down his torso to suck bruises and hickeys into the insides of Dean’s thighs.

“Fuck,” Dean gasps at the feeling of Cas’ teeth and lips and tongue, not sure if he wants him to stop or to keep going.

After what feels like fucking forever, Cas dips down even farther, opening Dean up with his tongue and fingers, until Dean’s shaking with sensation, moaning for Cas to _hurry the fuck up already, please, I’m gonna fucking die._

He can feel Cas smirking against his skin, and when he sits up, he hasn’t lost that stupid goddamn look on his face. Dean's fingers are clenching the sheets, desperate to hold on to something, to ground himself.

“Patience is a virtue,” Castiel says, not without a hint of smugness.

“Uh huh,” Dean scoffs, breathless. “And what would you know about virtue?”

Cas chuckles and leans down to kiss Dean slowly, tongue delving deep into Dean’s mouth. When they break apart, he can hear Cas whisper, “Ready?” and the only thing that Dean can do is nod, because saying words would be nearly impossible at this point.

Dean lifts his legs so that his knees rest on top of Cas’ shoulders. Cas takes his dick in hand and guides it until he’s nudging at Dean’s hole, and Dean feels like all the air has been punched out of him. He grabs Cas’ biceps in an attempt to ground himself, to not lose himself completely.

Cas pushes in slowly, his hips rocking shallowly to help Dean adjust, Dean’s heels digging into Cas’ back, urging him in faster.

“You feel so good,” Cas breathes in his ear, once he’s bottomed out. “So fucking hot, Dean. So tight.”

All Dean can do is moan in reply. It’s sticky where they touch, sweaty and hot when Cas first rocks into him slowly and shallowly, steadily getting faster and deeper until he’s just fucking Dean in earnest.

“Cas, oh,” Dean groans, loud and unrestrained. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t fucking stop, Cas, please.”

“So greedy for it,” Cas says, amused, and he starts thrusting in faster, setting a pace that makes Dean keen with pleasure.

There’s a heat curling around the base of Dean’s spine. He can feel himself getting close, and he untangles one of his hands from the sheets to start stroking his achingly hard cock, but Cas slaps away his hand before he can wrap his fingers around himself.

“Don’t touch,” Castiel growls, and Dean whimpers in response, but doesn’t protest when Cas grabs both of his wrists and pins them to either side of his head, pressing them down into the mattress. In fact, it just makes things about twenty times better, especially when Cas’ hips kick up a gear, in faster and shallower thrusts, but hitting Dean’s prostate with a jarring accuracy that makes him fucking sing.

“Oh, God!” he screams. “Fuck me, harder, Cas, oh God, yeah, right there, right fucking there, please, _please_.”

“Are you going to come for me, Dean?” Cas grunts. “Come without a hand on you?”

“Yes,” Dean cries, trying to roll his hips in time with Cas’ thrusts. “Please let me.”

He wants to kiss him. He wants to make Cas happy, but he also wants to touch himself. Except Cas won’t let him, and Dean’s so close, he’s so fucking close, _fuck_ —

 

Dean jolts awake, covered in sweat and coming all over the insides of his boxer briefs. A loud moan escapes his lips as he arches up off of the bed, his hips shoving up into his thin bed sheets.

The aftershocks of an intense orgasm make him shake, and he’s hit with the realization of what’s just happened, what he was thinking about, and his mood drops from “practically high” to “I’m in deep shit right now.”

Frustration and shame war with each other in Dean’s stomach. Eventually frustration wins out, and Dean rolls over on his stomach and buries his face into his pillow, dry sobs wracking throughout his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Laugh, I Nearly Died.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ld46tm4k-wI)


	17. You Found Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really suggest that you listen to this chapter's music... I was going through my iTunes and trying to find a song that made sense to put with this chapter and it matched well. Too well. I'm sad now.

Christmas Day is a quiet affair that involves him slumming around Ellen’s house most of the day and talking to Jo. He asks her if she’d like to go to the party on New Year’s Eve, and she eagerly agrees, admitting that she’s wanted to meet Cas ever since Dean wouldn’t shut up about him.

Dean smiles at the comment, but it sends a whole new wave of shame and guilt and frustration his way, thinking about last night's incident. Cas obviously isn’t interested in Dean the way Dean is in Cas. Cas has spent the better part of the last two years blaming Dean for his fucked-up marks, him getting picked on and bullied in the hallways, him spending most of the last few years just alone. Sure, he had Charlie and Kevin, but Dean knows how these things go. You can have friends, but without a best friend, you mostly just feel out of place. Dean did that to Castiel. Why should he want anything to do with Dean now, especially sexually?

So maybe they began to fall back into their old pattern. It’s not enough, and Dean seems to be the only one who wants more in this relationship.

Dean hasn’t told anyone about this, though. He might tell Jo when the frustration grows to a point, but he definitely won’t tell Cas. He won’t.

\---

Dean remembers one day when he was with Sammy at the run-down park by their old apartment. Dean was about eight, the barest hint that his marks were starting to show up on his arm. Sam was four and skinny as a beanpole.

Sam was swinging on the deathtrap of a swing set while a family passed by with their kids, a mother and a father with three kids. Dean pays them no mind and watches Sam swing back in forth in big arcs like a pendulum, clasping his hands in his lap and waiting for when Sam would be done so they could go home.

A small girl steps into Dean’s field of vision. She looks a little older than Sam. She’s in a plain white dress and her blonde hair is pulled into pigtails. Her teeth are a little crooked in that childish way, and there’s one missing. She looks like the poster child of innocence, complete with a red stain on the front of her dress with what looks like red Kool-Aid.

“Hi,” Dean says affably. “What’s your name?”

She eyes him warily. “Lillith.”

He smiles. “Hi, I’m Dean,” he says, and holds out his hand to shake, but she cringes away as if he’s offered for her to hold rotting meat.

“I know who you are,” the girl says, not without a hint of disgust.

“Do you, now?” he asks, a little amused at her rude behavior.

“Yeah,” she says, trying to be bold, but Dean can tell she’s at least a little scared. “You’re Dean Winchester. You’re the son of those _unmatched_ people.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “And?”

She seems to be frustrated that it’s taking so long to get a rise out of Dean. Dean smirks at her, and it just makes her face go red, maybe from frustration, maybe from embarrassment that Dean has the upper hand, per se, because she was the one who tried to insult him and it’s clearly not working.

“You’re a mistake,” she says finally. “My mom’s told me about people like you. Your parents just settled for each other. So they just settled for you.”

Dean leans forward and looks her straight in the eye, his next words serious and low. “I’m sorry your parents raised you to be such a jerk,” he says solemnly, and then grabs Sammy from the swing set and they leave the park before the girl can even go crying to her mother.

The words don’t mean much at the time, because the girl was clearly just doing it for the fun of it, and it wasn’t working.

Dean knows for a fact that kids can be the cruelest motherfuckers on the planet, but as he thinks about it, that encounter is apart from all the rest. Her _parents_ taught her that. Kids aren’t born hateful.

Just the fact that the insults came out of a child’s mouth kind of hurts him. People know about him. They think he’s worthless because of who he is, who his parents are.

It’s the first step on a slow spiral downwards.

\---

The New Year’s party isn’t unlike a middle school sleepover, in some ways. Cas nearly tackles him when he arrives at the door with Jo. They eat a lot, they tease each other, they watch a movie and get into a popcorn war. The only real difference is the addition of alcohol, which Dean barely touches.

Dean had half a glass of champagne. That was it. His head is still clear, not even a little foggy, but the people around him don’t seem to notice except for Dorothy. She’s pretty sober, too—she’s had a glass of champagne and there’s an open beer bottle in her hand, but Dean can tell that she intends to not be as sober as this for very long.

“Not getting drunk tonight?” she asks, sidling up next to Dean on the couch.

Dean shrugs. “Not really feeling it tonight,” he says.

She nods. “You’re the designated driver if Kevin gets smashed, then,” she grins and then goes over to talk with her girlfriend. Dean snorts at the idea of Kevin even looking at a bottle of alcohol without scrunching his nose in distaste.

Today, it seems like the roles are reversed. Dean is here, fucking sober, while Cas is taking the shots that Jo has lined up for him, and Dean prays to God that he can hold his liquor because there is absolutely _no_ _fucking way_ —

“Guys,” Kevin calls.

Six pairs of eyes turn to stare at Kevin.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says. “We should watch the ball drop on TV.”

Everyone scrambles up and rushes to the living room and they turn on the TV just in time to start watching the countdown.

Everyone yells loudly as the seconds wheedle away, until it’s the New Year, and Dorothy and Charlie share a pretty uncoordinated kiss, and Dean, Kevin, and Jo all laugh. He turns to Cas to comment on it, and then realizes that he isn’t there. He looks around the living room, the kitchen, and the hallway. Then he notices the porchlight on through the window, and goes outside to investigate.

Cas is there. He has a bottle of beer in one hand, a look of pure distress on his face.

“What’re you doing out here?” Dean asks quietly, but Cas still startles anyway. Dean approaches where he sits on the porch railing and stands next to him.

Cas stares at him. “The fireworks are going to start soon,” he says.

It’s a lie. They both know it, and Dean’s a little worried as to why Cas would keep a secret from him but doesn’t comment on it, and Cas knocks his knee against him to show his appreciation for that.

“They usually start right at midnight,” Dean comments, looking at the empty sky.

Cas just shrugs. “I guess they’re just running late.”

Dean nods and reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a half-empty carton of cigarettes. He hasn’t smoked in a while, but he’s had the craving the past few days, so why not.

He can feel Cas’ eyes on him as he lights one up. “Why do you smoke?” Cas asks.

Dean chuckles. “Takes the edge off,” is his automatic reply. “And also I look super hot,” he adds, wiggling his eyebrows.

Cas rolls his eyes and punches Dean lightly in the shoulder. Dean warms up under his touch.

“Why?” Dean asks, a second later. “Do you want me to stop?”

Cas looks at him with surprisingly clear eyes despite the fact that Dean knows that he’s shit-faced drunk. “Well, I’d like you to not die twenty years before me, so I wouldn’t mind you quitting, no.”

That puts things into perspective. The sentence warms Dean from the inside. He says it like they’re going to be spending more time with each other, like they have a future together, and it gives Dean a spark of hope.

Cas smiles hollowly at him before taking a drink of his beer, which he chokes on and spills over himself.

“Oh, shit,” Cas groans. His face immediately turns red with embarrassment.

“Okay, I think that’s enough alcohol for you,” Dean chirps. He pulls the bottle out of Cas’ grasp and sets it on the ground. Cas groans in humiliation and hides his face in his hands.

“I’m a fucking mess,” he laments. “Go inside and spare me the embarrassment.” He pushes at Dean’s shoulder with one of his hands, trying to move him towards the door.

That’s when Dean notices that Cas’ sleeves are rolled up. His marks catch Dean’s eye, and he gently removes Cas’ hand from his shoulder to inspect them.

“Not pretty, are they?” Cas says, and Dean almost jumps in surprise.

Cas is right, though Dean doesn’t want to say it. The scars are raised, puckered, and twisted. The dots that are there are fractured like broken plates. The skin looks like it was torn rather than cut through, and it makes Dean so angry.

Dean flicks his eyes up in permission. He wants to touch them, stroke them gently until Cas isn’t afraid to hide them. Cas nods.

Dean raises his other hand and strokes over the dot with his thumb. He can hear Cas’ small intake of breath, and elects to ignore it.

“I was later than usual after cross-country practice,” he says, and Dean’s eyes flick up to his, pleading for him to stop. He knows where this is going. “When Alastair found me.”

“You don’t have to—” Dean starts.

“I want to,” Cas insists. “I have to, at some point, anyway,” he adds with a sigh.

So Cas tells him the story, his fingers clenching into his hands harder and harder until he’s sure that the pressure of his nails against his palm is enough to draw blood. The image of keys being dug into the underside of Cas’ forearm—it’s almost too much to bear. He wonders if Cas really believes that he doesn’t deserve a soulmate, because that’s not true. That is so not true. If anything, it’s Dean who doesn’t deserve a soulmate, for leaving Cas vulnerable and alone.

“I just remember there being a lot of blood,” Castiel says, “and that he was stepping on my throat and Brady and Jackson were holding me down and…”

_And you weren’t there that time._

Cas doesn’t say it, but he doesn’t need to. Dean knows what he did, and he’ll never stop being sorry for it, but that doesn’t mean that it’s fixed.

“Cas,” Dean says, and grabs his shoulders so he can hold him close.

Cas starts babbling in his ear, saying that he must have blacked out and that he was in the hospital, and Dean keeps whispering that he’s got him, that he won’t let anyone else touch him ever again.

When they pull back, they stare at each other. There’s a moment that seems to stretch into infinity, and then Cas is leaning forward to capture Dean’s lips.

Before Dean can comprehend what he’s doing, he’s stepping forward into the V of Cas’ legs, and he locks his ankles around Dean’s thighs. It makes Dean moan softly into Cas’ mouth, a slick, hot thing compared to the freezing weather that shrouds them. Cas’ tongue is in his mouth, warm and wet. He lets Cas take and take and take, because it’s more than he deserves; he deserves to take everything from Dean, and Dean is ready to give until he has nothing left and then give even more.

He shouldn’t be doing this, because Cas is very drunk and Dean is very not, but it seems like a sin to deny Cas this, especially when Cas is panting _Dean, Dean, please_ against his jaw. Cas’ hands are fisted into the short hair on the top of his head, and Dean nothing but pliable under his touch, his own fingers holding on for dear life to Cas’ hips.

And then there’s an intense burning in Dean arm, and he pulls back in panic, and realizes that it’s only the bond tattoo connecting the first two dots.

The burn is hot and itchy, but Dean can live with it. He looks back to Cas, who looks like he wants to kiss Dean again but is unsure if he should, and then the fireworks start so they sit and watch that awhile, Cas still tangled up in Dean’s arms.

About five minutes after that, Cas takes Dean’s hand and leads him inside.

\---

Kissing Cas back was a mistake. It was. Dean should have left it alone, should have said _no, not while you’re drunk_. But it’s too late now. The mark has already filled in, has already connected the first two dots and there’s absolutely no way to erase it. Who says Cas won’t regret this in the morning, much less remember it?

Plus, it’s like a dam has been broken. Since the first kiss, just a mere twenty minutes ago, Cas can’t keep his hands off of Dean. Jo and Charlie and Dorothy all cheer when they find Dean and Cas on the couch, Cas nearly on his lap. Dean couldn’t say anything, but Castiel grinned at them and then took Dean to his room.

If Cas looked unsure before when they were outside watching the fireworks, he sure as hell isn’t now. He seems to have forgotten his hesitance because now he’s pushing Dean up against the wall and kissing him within an inch of his life. Dean doesn’t even kiss back, but Cas is too drunk to notice. He should probably push Cas off of him, but how can he do it in a way that won’t make Cas hate him?

Apparently he doesn’t need to break the kiss, because Cas does it for him, pulling back and smiling in a way Dean has never seen him smile before. It’s almost… predatory.

“Wanna know a secret?” Castiel says in a low voice. His breath is sour and sweet at the same time with the scent of beer. Goosebumps rise on Dean’s arms. Cas leans closer until his lips are brushing the shell of Dean’s ear, his voice a breathy whisper. “I would give anything to fuck you right now.”

Dean shudders.

It’s what he wants. It’s Christmas Eve all over again, and he is aching to have all of Cas’ skin flush against his own, to hear him cry out, to have Cas inside of him, moving with him…

He pushes Cas off of him, to which Cas stumbles back in surprise and looks at Dean with a dejected, shocked sort of look.

“Dean—” Cas starts, and it sounds like an apology.

“Cas,” Dean interrupts, “trust me, I want that too. Just… not when you’re drunk.”

There’s no dawning realization that lights up his eyes. He doesn’t look like he’s made a huge mistake. His expression barely changes at all. If anything, he looks ambitious. For what, Dean doesn’t know.

“Okay,” he says.

It’s not the reaction Dean is expecting, but he’ll roll with it. He smiles tentatively at Cas, who smiles back.

“It’s nearly three,” Castiel says. “We should go to bed.”

Dean nods in agreement and allows Cas to pull him to the living room downstairs, because Cas must know that sleeping in the bedroom would either A) make Dean uncomfortable or B) make the other members of their party think bad things. He grabs pillows and sheets and blankets from the linen closet and sets to work to make a makeshift bed out of the couch. Charlie and Dorothy are already there, on and next to the loveseat on the other side of the room, already fast asleep. Once Cas is finished he sits down and looks at Dean expectantly.

“What?” Dean asks, oblivious.

Cas stares at him. “Come join me,” he explains.

Oh. Yep, that’s definitely something that can’t happen. Dean’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh. Uh,” he says cleverly, and then turns away. “Uh, no thanks.”

“Dean,” Castiel chides, as if he’s being stupid. “I’m not going to do anything, even if I am drunk. You can trust me.”

Dean looks back at Cas, hesitant. “I’m not doing it because I don’t trust _you_ ,” he says.

Realization dawns on Cas’ face, and he turns away, embarrassed. “Oh,” he says, cheeks red. “Okay, that’s fine, then.”

Dean presses his lips together and spreads his blanket on the floor next to Cas, and then throws the pillow down. He settles into his makeshift bed as Cas shifts around in his, trying to make himself comfortable.

The room is dark and quiet for a while. Dean is trying to sleep, but his mind is buzzing. Sometime later, Cas speaks, even though Dean had thought he’d fallen asleep a while ago.

“I don’t want to regret this in the morning, Dean,” he says into the empty air. “You have to make me realize that, okay?”

Dean smiles wistfully at the ceiling. He reaches up and takes Cas’ hand. “Okay,” he says.

“With a little luck, I’ll remember. But, if not… help me. Kissing you is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Me too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You Found Me.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xMlou7Q0GRE)


	18. Where the Streets Have No Name

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, again, I apologize for that cliffie that I posted some chapters ago. I had several angry comments and many curious inquirers as to what happened. Now you finally find out what's going on! Yay!  
> Also, thank you for your lovely comments and all your kudos. Each one makes my day, and I usually read your comments like ten times each.  
> There's some lines from _The Princess Bride_ in here, and I obviously don't own that or anything so credit goes to the creator!
> 
> And of course you have to take your angst with a healthy dosing of fluff. That's the only way it works, or, I guess, that's the only way _I_ work. Enjoy, my friends!

Dean wakes up to hear Cas throwing up in the bathroom. Really loudly.

He’s staring up at the ceiling above him. His back hurts like a bitch, and his neck is no better. It takes him a second to remember why he’s sleeping on the floor, and then the memories of last night come rushing back to him.

Dean rushes to get up maybe to get Cas something to drink or to see if he’s okay. When he gets there, he sees Cas gripping the sides of the sink, looking at the marks on his arm.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” Cas curses.

“Cas?” Dean says. “Cas, you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Cas says quickly. Dean sees him staring at the marks on his arm. He knows for sure now.

“Just a little nauseous, is all,” he says, and Dean hopes to God that he’s nauseous because of the alcohol, not because of the mark on his arm.

“Well,” Dean says, taking Cas’ hand. He doesn’t pull away from Dean, so he takes that as a good sign. “I’m sure you’re strong enough to get over it.”

Dean starts leaning in to kiss him, and before he can even get within an inch of him, Castiel freaks out and jumps away.

“What are you doing?” Cas says (exclaims, really), his tone scolding.

A flash of disappointment hits Dean like a freight train. He really shouldn’t be surprised, and yet he is. He shouldn’t be upset about it, but he is. There are so many things that he just shouldn’t be right now and yet he is, because he worked himself up over it and he got his hopes up when he knew he shouldn’t have.

Because of course. Of course Cas would freak out. Because he sees the mark on his arm and he automatically views it as a mistake, whether he remembers last night or not. And that’s something Dean should have known—that Cas would view any forward movements in their relationship as a mistake, because they _are_ a mistake. To Cas, it’s a mistake to be with Dean—if he’s sober, that is. That’s simply what it all boils down to. 

He can feel his face fall into a neutral expression. “Nothing, I guess.”

“Nothing?” Castiel reprimands. “You were about to kiss me.”

Dean has absolutely no patience for this. “I said it was nothing, Cas,” he snaps, and turns and leaves the bathroom.

It isn’t exactly Cas’ fault, but there’s that small part of him that can’t help but be angry at him for getting his hopes up, for getting excited about being able to do this regularly, to be able to finally fall in love with each other like Dean already has been for years. He wants to start acting like soulmates, actual soulmates, the thing that Castiel gave him hope for last night, and he knows that inevitably that they have to start being soulmates but he’s afraid of being one of _those_ cases where they don’t properly get together until five years or ten years or twenty years after they’ve met. And he just wants to be with Cas so badly it hurts, _physically hurts_ somewhere deep in his chest, like there’s a weight tied around his heart.

He finds his boots in the living room, and quickly pulls them on and tries to tie the laces. His fingers are shaking too much to tie a proper knot, and he has to start over and over again.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asks again, his tone angry.

“Getting out of your hair,” Dean shoots back, and he finally gets the laces to make a decent knot before standing up to walk to the door. He hopes Jo won’t mind getting a ride home some other way, because there’s no way he’ll be physically able to come back to this house. There are too many mistakes in these walls.

“I never told you to leave,” Castiel says.

Dean almost snorts at the absurdity of the statement. “You didn’t have to.” He moves to get past Cas so he can storm out the door, but Castiel grabs his arm.

“Stop,” Castiel says.

That makes Dean angry. Cas thinks he’s allowed to touch him after what he’s just done? Oh, hell no. He tugs his arm free. “Cas, just—!”

“What?” Cas snaps. “‘Just’ what?”

“I—I’m tired of dancing around each other like we’re – like we’re not what we are!” Dean finally says.

“And what are we?” Castiel snarls.

“We’re soulmates, Cas!” Dean shoots back at him. “We can’t pretend that’s not real!”

“I’m not _pretending_ , Dean!”

They’ve steadily been getting louder in their argument until finally they notice Charlie stirring in her sleep.

“Then what are you doing?” Dean whispers furiously. “I thought we were together, after last night.”

“You thought we were—?” Cas starts, and Dean nods his head enthusiastically. “I’ve been waiting for _you_ to say something,” he says.

Dean wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Why have you been waiting for _me_?”

Cas sighs, runs a hand through his already sleep-mussed hair. “I wanted to move at your pace. I figured I couldn’t do anything wrong if I followed your lead.”

Castiel is the stupidest smart person he’s ever met. Dean stares at him in disbelief, and Castiel keeps going, trying to fill the quiet air.

“I realize now that that was probably too much pressure to put on you, especially if you were not aware,” he says. When Dean still doesn’t answer, he looks nervous. “Dean?”

Dean steps forward and takes Cas’ face in his hands, kissing him softly. Castiel returns it almost automatically, and it makes Dean grin against his lips.

“You’re an idiot,” Dean tells him, once he’s broken the kiss. Cas nips his lip to show his displeasure, and Dean laughs softly. “Weren’t you the one who told me that relationships are two-sided?” Castiel looks away, avoiding his eyes, and it makes him grin. “If you want to kiss me, kiss me. If you want to text me, do it. Don’t be afraid of scaring me off. I’m your soulmate, Cas.”

“Then the same goes for you,” Castiel grumps. “Don’t worry about me, Dean. I won’t break.”

Dean smiles and kisses him again. “I know you won’t.”

\---

Things are good. Dean is the happiest he’s ever been, and he gets two warnings from teachers to stop kissing Castiel in the hallways but doesn’t take either of them to heart. It’s so easy to fall into an actual relationship with Castiel, it’s almost like nothing has changed.

He’s lying in the snow; Cas’ gloved hand is in his after an impromptu snowball fight in the front yard of Castiel’s giant house. The snow around them has sunken in from their sad attempts at snow angels.

The sky is pure white, almost blinding to look at. Their breaths make white clouds in the air above them before disappearing. They don’t speak; they don’t have to. But one thing stands: they can’t stay out in the winter air forever.

“Let’s go inside,” Dean says, squeezing Cas’ hand. “We can make hot chocolate.”

Cas sighs. “No.”

“No?” Dean asks, amused.

“I’m happy here,” he says, he looks over to look at Dean, snow all over his hair and some in his eyelashes.

Dean pushes himself up until he’s on all fours, hovering over Cas. His cheeks have a slight blush in response to the cold, and his blue eyes are wide and ocean-deep. The wings of his snow angel stretch far above his head and sweep low below his hips, arcing widely to the sides. Dean reaches over him to draw a halo above his head with his finger.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here, angel,” Dean smirks.

Castiel grins back up at him. “Shut up,” he laughs, and grabs the front of Dean's jacket to pull him down for a kiss.

\---

Friday night, Dean brings _The Princess Bride_ to watch with Castiel. Dean refrains from reciting every line like he does with _Star Wars_ , but he can’t help himself from laughing at every funny part, as always.

“I need to confess something,” Dean says to Castiel about halfway through to movie.

“Oh?” Castiel says, pausing the movie to give his full attention. “And what’s that?”

Dean sighs and shifts in his seat, as if winding himself up for a dramatic admittance. “I had this giant crush on Westley when I was a kid,” he says.

Castiel bursts out laughing and Dean grins at him. Cas’ eyes sort of crinkle up when he smiles really wide, a smile that took Dean almost a month to wriggle out of him after they first met.

“Should I be jealous?” Castiel asks, still giggling a little.

Dean laughs a little too, and shakes his head. “No, it’s no competition,” he assures him, and leans forward to peck him on the lips.

They start the movie again.

 _“He’s dead,”_ Inigo Montoya is saying. _“He can’t talk.”_

 _“Whoo-hoo-hoo, look who knows so much!”_ Miracle Max says, unimpressed. _“It just so happens that your friend here is only_ mostly _dead. There’s a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well. With all dead there's usually only one thing you can do.”_

 _“And what’s that?”_ Inigo asks.

_“Go through his clothes and look for loose change.”_

Cas starts laughing again and leans against Dean, who wraps his arm around him.

 

The movie is over way too quickly. Dean grins as the credits rolls across the screen and turns to look at Cas, who is tucked under Dean’s arm, his head against Dean’s chest.

“That was fantastic,” he says, smiling. “My favorite that you’ve shown me so far.”

“Pretty great, right?” Dean says. “It’s been one of my favorites since I was a kid.”

“I can understand why.”

Dean sighs contentedly and brings out his phone to check the time. Upon noticing the hour, his stomach drops. He scrambles off the couch in a panic.

“Shit, I said I’d be home half an hour ago,” he says.

“Oh, crap,” Cas says. “You better get going. You want me to drive you home?”

“Nah, I’ll just take the bus or something,” he lies, swinging his coat over his shoulders. He’s not taking the bus, he’s walking. There’s no way he’s going to try to shorten his coming-home to John now that he’s late, even if the outcome will be worse than if he had. Doesn’t matter now. It’s not like he can go into the past and fix it.

“I’ll call you,” Cas says, smiling softly at him.

“I’ll answer,” Dean says, and leans forward to kiss him on the cheek. “I’m glad you liked the movie.”

“I’m glad you watched it with me,” he says. “Now get out of here before it starts getting too late.”

Dean opens the door and steps outside. He doesn’t want to go, not just because he’s going home to John but because he wants to stay behind with Castiel.

They just look at each other for a few moments, and then Cas says, “Text me when you get home, okay?”

Dean nearly says, “As you wish,” but settles for “Okay, mom,” with an added eye-roll because it’s far less sappy and far more sarcastic and Dean nearly kicks himself.

Cas closes the door behind him and Dean gets on his way.

 

It’s a two and a half mile walk from Cas’ place to Dean’s apartment, and the weather is frigid. The knot in his stomach seems to grow and grow the closer he gets home, and he almost calls Cas twice to just come pick him up and bring him back because he doesn’t want to go home.

But before he knows it, he’s standing in front of his apartment, trying to fit the key into the lock but his hands are shaking from anxiety and the cold, but he finally manages to turn the key and open the door. He steps inside and closes the door behind him, rubbing his palms together to get them warm.

Something’s not right.

The lights are off, and while that should be normal because he knows sometimes his dad goes out to the bars on Friday nights, his dad told him to be home at a certain time, and plus, the car is outside.

It’s freezing inside, nearly as cold as the outside. He must not have turned the heat on, because Dean can see his breath in the dim.

Maybe his dad went to bed, but… no, wait. Dean spots something from behind the counter on the floor. He can’t really make out the shape, but if he goes closer… it’s a boot, like the ones his dad wears.

He goes into the kitchen and there’s his father, eyes closed, on the floor, and a bottle of Jack Daniels in his hand. The alcohol is in a puddle on the floor around his arm and hand, soaking into his clothes.

Everything after that seems to be in slow motion.

 

He lies in bed later that night—or, technically, very early in the morning. He feels strange. Kind of hollowed-out but strangely unsurprised at the turn of events.

He checks his phone.

Two missed calls, two texts, all from Cas. Shit. Dean promised he’d talk to Cas when he got home, and that was… five hours ago? Six? A while ago. He’ll put it off until later, but right now, he just really wants to sleep.

\--- 

Dean _does_ text Castiel the next morning, just saying to come over. Cas is there within ten minutes, banging on Dean’s door to announce his arrival. He can already tell that Cas isn’t happy.

Dean opens the door, and Cas looks pissed. Which is, well, fair, but it still sort of stings a little to see that anger pointed at himself.

“Dean,” Castiel says, his tone as biting at the cold air.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says, trying for a smile. It must looks insincere and hollow.

Cas sighs in annoyance at Dean’s attitude and looks over his shoulder into the apartment, searching. “Where’s your dad?” he asks.

“He’s dead,” Dean says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Where the Streets Have No Name.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GzZWSrr5wFI)


	19. Naval

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter-than-usual chapter up ahead. It's like 99% angst, too, so I apologize for that as well.

“I… what?” Castiel says, confusion and concern written all over his face at the news.

“Yeah,” Dean says. He has a cigarette in his hand. He lights it up and takes a pull. There’s been a lot of smoking these past few days.

He steps aside so Cas can enter the apartment.

“What happened?” Cas asks. All trace of anger at Dean for not calling has dissipated from his expression, his blue eyes wide and full of worry.

“I came home and found him in the kitchen. I called an ambulance and when they got here they said that he was long gone. Probably died while I was at school. His liver gave out,” Dean says. It’s quiet for a long time until he says, “The funeral is on Tuesday. I want you to come with me, if that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Cas says immediately.

“I have to drop out,” Dean says, tone as if he is mentioning the weather. 

Castiel stares at him, frozen on the spot.

“I have to drop out of school, Cas, it’s the only way I’m going to be able to pay the rent.” Dean had thought about this last night, but suddenly it seems like a bigger deal now than it had been before. I… I have to get a job. Full-time. I’m… Cas, I’m not going to graduate. I—fuck.”

“Yeah,” he says. There are tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over. “I was so fucking close, too. I was going to graduate. I was going to get the fuck out of here.”

“Dean,” Cas says, but he can barely hear him.

“Shit,” he says. “Shit, I’m gonna have to ask Bobby if he can—fuck, _shit_.”

“Dean, listen to me,” Cas says firmly, grabbing his shoulders and forcing him to focus. “You’re not dropping out of high school.”

Dean stares at him. Has he lost his fucking mind? “I have to, Cas, it’s the only way I’ll be able to make ends meet.”

“No, it’s not.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. “Well, then, what do you propose, since you seem to have a handle on this situation?”

“Well, uh,” Cas says. He bites his bottom lip, as if nervous, and he looks away. “You could always move in with me.” It’s barely above a whisper, soft enough that Dean thinks he’s misheard him.

“What?” he asks in disbelief.

“I said,” Cas says louder, his voice a little more confident. “You could move in with me.”

Dean’s response is immediate. “I couldn’t,” he says. “I can’t ask that of you.”

“Dean,” Castiel says, sighing in frustration. “First of all, there’s no fucking way I’m letting you drop out of school. Second of all, you’re my soulmate, and I don’t care if I lived in a box on the side of the road—if you had lost your own box, I would still share with you. Thirdly, I don’t live in a box, and we have way too much space than we know what to do with, and I want you to move in with me, please.”

Dean stares at him in awe before stepping forward to kiss Castiel, hard and quick before wrapping his arms around him in a tight hug. The tears fall from his eyes before he realizes to stop them, and he’s not sure how much Castiel appreciates getting his nice shirt soaked with salty tears, but Cas doesn’t do anything but hold Dean closer.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you,” Dean whispers into his neck. “But holy shit, whatever it was, I’m glad I did it.”

“You were just you,” Cas tells him. “That was enough.”

\---

The day of the funeral rolls around. Dean doesn’t have any nice shoes and declines to wear the pair of shoes that Cas tries to lend him. If he’s going to his father’s funeral, he’s doing it in his own clothes. It’s a weird thing that Dean can’t explain but he feels like he has to. Not to mention the fact that Cas is extremely flat-footed and his shoes are broken in weird, though he’d get indignant if Dean brought it up.

So Dean goes to the funeral in an old suit and his nicest pair of boots. He feels a little self-conscious, and then realizes that he really just doesn’t give a shit.

Dean, Ellen, and Bobby all chip in to pay for the funeral. It’s still fucking expensive, even split three ways and with a small reception afterwards at the Roadhouse. Dean is suddenly very, very grateful that he’s going to live at Cas’, because there would be no way for him have paid and not end up on a street corner begging for spare change afterwards.

He arrives a few minutes early, Castiel in the passenger seat. He looks good in a suit, which is pretty much the only upside of this occasion.

They walk in, a spattering of funeral-goers in the pews. The chapel is small but the ceiling goes up high and the stained-glass windows are beautiful. Ellen did a good job of picking this place out.

Dean walks forward down the aisle, and then stops. He’s staring at the casket. The world seems to be spinning around him while he himself stands still, watching the body in front of him.

_That's your father_ , a voice says in his head. His stomach feels uneasy.

Muffled voices are speaking behind him, sounding urgent. They fill his head but they mean nothing; he can make out no words.

There’s a hand on his shoulder.

“No,” Dean says, tugging away. He steps slowly closer to the casket, peering inside.

His father’s face is clean-shaven and his eyes are closed. His hair is more gray than black and his skin has a yellow tint to it—jaundiced. He should have realized that dad needed help, that he was sick, that he was going to—

And then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder again, pulling him back.

“Dean,” a voice says, and he realizes it’s Cas speaking. He turns around and sees Cas, and Bobby is also standing there, looking concerned.

“Sit with me,” Castiel says, his voice even and his eyes clear.

It’s an order, one that Dean can follow. He obliges blindly, sitting next to Castiel and staring forward. Bobby Singer is sitting next to Dean, and across the aisle is Jo and Ellen.

There are a few others dotting the pews, but even in the small chapel, it is quite empty. In his last years John was not a happy person, and he managed to drive all but a few people out his life. The only ones who stayed were either bound to him permanently or just as stubborn as he was and refused to leave.

Castiel moves closer to him and presses their thighs together, a warm pressure that Dean can focus on. He reaches over to grab Cas’ hand to hold, and his hands are shaking so much that it almost looks like he’s vibrating, but once Cas’ fingers are threaded through his, his hands stop shaking and he can breathe easier. Castiel starts to trace small, concentric circles over the knuckle of his thumb.

They don’t say anything. They don’t have to.

When the service starts, it feels like it's going too fast. Bobby goes up to speak and tells stories about the years before when John was funny and happy and every bit the ex-Marine that he was, all honor and integrity and stubborn as an ass.

Dean doesn’t go up to speak. He has nothing nice to say.

\---

The graveyard that John is buried in is nice, as far as graveyards go. They picked him a plot under a big oak tree. When Dean stands in front of the grave, however, it feels like a movie. Like this scene is staged, forced. The setting is nice, but the thoughts tumbling around in his head are less than kind.

The freshly-turned earth is soft under Dean's shoes. The headstone is new and the corners sharp and even, made out of white granite. If Dean is being honest with himself, it's a better headstone than John deserves. But Dean is rarely honest with himself.

He can hear footsteps approaching him. He knows it's Castiel before he even turns around. They stand in silence for a while, until Dean starts speaking.

“I lied to you that night, when we were watching the movie. I didn’t get a bus, and I wasn’t planning to. I walked home.”

Cas is quiet, anticipating.

“I didn’t want to get home any sooner than I had to, because I knew he was going to be waiting for me. I knew I was in trouble for not being home on time, or at least calling to tell him I’d be late. I was… procrastinating, I guess.”

Dean takes a deep breath, gathering courage for what he was about to say.

“When I got home and saw him there, the only thing I could feel was relief. I was expecting it, a little, yeah, but I didn’t think I’d actually be, you know, _okay_  with it. Even when I called the paramedics. The lady on the phone thought I was going into shock, but I was just calm as ever.”

It’s a heavy statement, one that Castiel knows better than to say anything to yet, and Dean’s glad for that.

“Does that make me a bad person?” he asks finally.

“No,” Castiel says firmly, gripping Dean’s forearm tightly.

“But he's my father,” Dean insists, and then something hits him. “Oh, shit. I don’t have a dad anymore.”

The concept of a father and the reality of a father are two different things. To some, the concept of a father is better than the reality of a father.

That was what it was like for Dean. When the tears finally sprung behind his eyes, he didn’t cry because his father drank himself to death. He wasn’t lamenting the loss of the black and swollen eyes that he received as homecoming gifts and he definitely didn’t miss the sketchy excuses he would give to friends and teachers the next day at school. He didn’t cry because he would miss the ever-present smell of stale alcohol that floated around his old man. He wasn’t upset that he wouldn’t have to pay the rent himself anymore.

No. He didn’t miss his father. Hell, he might even say he’s glad that he’s gone.

He didn’t cry because he lost his father. He cried because he lost the potential for a father.

It’s strange to cry over something that never happened, Dean thinks, and yet, it is something that he can never change, so he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop being disappointed over it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Naval.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Pah9ZLNLfdI)


	20. Twins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update and then getting out this really short chapter up ahead... I'm also sorry for the angst... yeah...

Dean misses school the day after the funeral, but he is back on the Thursday afterwards. He moves into Castiel’s house that weekend and they throw away all the shit that his dad had hoarded over the years—bottles, magazines, books, boxes, a bunch of other crap. Dean gets his own room, one without Sam’s old, empty bed to remind him of past events.

It’s just an extra guest room that Cas offered for Dean to have. But it’s clean and the bed is queen-sized and there’s a desk in the corner that he likes, for some reason. The walls are blue and clear, and Dean is itching to fill them with the posters that he had in his old room. It’s at least twice as big as the room he had back at his old apartment. But what Dean really likes is that it’s right next to Cas’ room.

People seem to walk on eggshells around Dean and he hates it. People are overly upbeat around him and steer the conversation away from anything relating to his father or death or whatever. He figures he’ll just let it pass.

\---

They sit watching some documentary about whales on the couch, which Castiel seems endlessly interested in. Dean might be interested, if he weren’t dead tired, and the warm weight of Castiel was making him even sleepier. He’s about to nod off when Castiel shifts in his place where he lies in the crook of Dean’s arm.

Dean sits up groggily, trying to keep awake, when he looks down and notices the expression on Cas’ face—it looks like worry.

“What’s up?” Dean asks him, nudging Cas’ arm.

Cas looks up at him, biting his bottom lip. After a few hesitant seconds he says, “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Dean assures.

Cas still worries at his bottom lip before taking a deep breath and saying, “Why did you say that I left you, Dean? The day after you climbed in through my window.”

Well, Dean doesn’t know what he was expecting, but that wasn’t it. It must be bothering Cas if he’s bringing it up now, though. Dean smiles wryly at him and laughs mirthfully. “It was stupid,” Dean tells him. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No,” Castiel says, sitting up and turning around. “I want you to be completely honest with me. Just tell me.”

“Well,” Dean says hesitantly, sitting up and folding his hands together carefully. “Okay. You won’t get mad at me?”

“Promise,” Castiel says, smiling.

“Okay.” Dean sighs, winding himself up to say it. “Well, Cas. You’re… very passionate, you know that?”

Cas chuckles. “No, not really.”

“Well, you are,” Dean says. “You’re really passionate. Everything there is, you throw yourself into it. It’s all or nothing with you—whatever highs there are, they’re really high. And whatever lows there are, they’re really low. Barely any in-between with you. So when I told you that I needed space, I thought… I thought you were going to fight a little more for it, you know? Tell me to not do it, that this mattered too much to you, that I—” Dean breaks off and clears his throat. He shouldn’t be getting emotional about this, because that’s stupid. Cas is here now, isn’t he? It’s okay now.

“Anyway, it was just dumb,” Dean continues, as if nothing had happening. “It was pretty stupid of me to just, you know, _expect_ you to try and stop me, I—”

“Don’t say that,” Castiel says, moving closer to take Dean’s hands in his own. “Don’t say that it was stupid. You’re right, I should have fought more for it. You were my best friend, Dean, I just—I was just so broken up about it, and I thought that bothering you would make it worse. I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t worry about it,” Dean says, smiling small. “In the past, right?”

Cas smiles at him. “In the past.” He leans in and kisses Dean firmly and quickly on the lips before pulling back and giving him a smile.

“It’s good to… you know,” Dean says, waving his arm in a vague gesture. “Be honest with each other.”

“Yeah, well,” Castiel says. “We’re just going to be honest with each other from now on, then.” He smiles up at Dean and turns back to the TV, resting in the crook of Dean’s arm.

Dean’s stomach twists like a towel being wrung. Honest with each other. If they’re being honest, does that mean Dean should tell Cas everything? Even if he hasn’t asked for it? Should he wait until Castiel asks for him to tell him? But that could be never.

But, hey, does it even, like, count? They weren’t even technically together yet. Sure, they knew they were soulmates and everything, but Cas still hated Dean. Just because Dean realized he was in love with him… well, actually, that might mean something.

“Well, then, Cas, I have to tell you…”

“What?” Castiel asks, turning around to face him properly, concern in his voice.

“If we’re gonna be honest with each other, then…”

“What, Dean?” Castiel says, anger coloring his voice.

“The night I showed up to your house drunk… there was,” Dean rushes to continue. His stomach is twisting almost painfully now. Cas is going to be pissed, but it’s better than saying it later, right? Yeah, he’ll keep telling himself that. “Um. I had just come from a party, and, uh.” Dean runs a nervous hand through his hair. “There were these two guys.”

The look on Castiel’s face is something Dean will never forget. The realization dawns on him slowly, like he knows what’s coming but really, really doesn’t want it to be true. It’s horrible, and Dean suddenly wishes he could reach out in the air between them and snatch his words out of the air and put them back in his mouth, but it’s too late.

“Did you sleep with them?” Castiel asks quietly.

“Yeah,” Dean says, and he’s filled with so much shame and regret and anger and fucking _shame_ that he just wants to melt into the floor.

“Who were they?” he asks Dean.

Dean swallows nervously, trying to push back the lump in his throat so he can speak. “I don’t… I don’t really remember.”

Castiel stares at him in disbelief, gets up, and starts to leave the room.

“Hey, Cas, wait,” Dean says desperately, getting up and grabbing Castiel’s hand. He snatches his hand away and whips around so quickly that Dean almost stumbles backwards. The look on his face is pure _rage_ , and Dean’s only ever seen that with his father that he automatically flinches at the sight of seeing such an intense hatred focused on him.

“How dare you, Dean Winchester, how _dare_ you!” he yells, and Dean actually _does_ stumble back this time, because Castiel is advancing on him quickly, shoving him backwards by the shoulders until his back hits the wall. Dean holds his hands up in surrender, saying, “I know, I know, Cas.”

“‘I know’?” Castiel repeats. “Is that all you have to say for yourself?”

“No,” Dean amends quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Cas, I—”

“You cheated on me, and you can’t even remember their names! How much am I worth to you that you would just—just go off and be unloyal to me for a quick fuck at a goddamn high school party?”

“ _No_ ,” Dean says. “You mean so much more to me than that. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, really?” Cas challenges. “Then why did you do it, Dean?”

“Because it was…” Dean swallows thickly, trying to get the words out. “It was a shitty week, Cas, okay? Because—because my dad was being an asshole to me, and then you told me about Alastair and I was just so fucking guilty, Cas, and then I realized I was still in love with you and you hated me, you—you wouldn’t even _look_ at me, and…” he trails off as he realizes what he said. “Ah, fuck…”

That word. He said it, out loud. And now, of all times, in the middle of a fight. God, he hates himself.

He half expects his mark to start filling in until he remembers that to have a mark fill in it has to be a mutual thing, which this isn’t. Dean’s been fooling himself this entire time.

Yeah, they’re perfect for each other. They’re supposed to be. Except they’re doing everything wrong— _everything._ They become best friends and they—Dean, mostly—breaks it off. Their first kiss is when they—Cas, actually—are drunk. Dean says he’s in love with Cas in the middle of the fight, the absolute worst time to say it. Chances are, the reason they have sex is just to consummate their marriage. And, at this rate, their marriage will probably be because they were drunk in Las Vegas, or something, and Cas proposes to him after half a bottle of tequila and three baskets of hot wings and two bacon cheeseburgers later, because that is just the _picture_ of romance.

“What?” Castiel says, shock written all over his face.

“Yeah,” Dean says cleverly.

“You said…”

“Yeah,” Dean repeats, running a tired hand over his face. “I love you, Castiel.”

And he means it. He means it and more. He just hopes Cas can see that, despite everything.

Castiel stares at him before turning on his heel and retreating to his room. He doesn’t say it back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Twins.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z68XfDV5fWQ)


	21. Sing It Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of Dean/other.

Castiel won’t speak to Dean.

And yeah, okay, Dean deserves it, he knows he does, but it doesn’t stop it from hurting.

Castiel gets up earlier than Dean in the morning and makes himself breakfast and leaves. Dean can’t tell if Cas gets home earlier or if he arrives after Dean’s fallen asleep, because Cas’ door is always closed and Dean has to fend for himself for dinner.

Dean hates it. He absolutely hates it, and Dean would totally talk about this with Cas if he even gave him the chance, but being as it is Cas keeps shutting him out, averting his eyes, leaving him behind and making his escape in the early hours of morning, and that’s just not fair.

 

Dean leans against the brick wall and reaches into his backpack, pulling out a somewhat squashed sandwich. He unwraps it from its clear plastic packaging and takes a bite. Even smashed, it still tastes good, even if the lettuce is a little wilted and the bread is a little too soft and damp from mayonnaise.

This is the fourth day that he’s had to do this. Usually he’d be inside with Cas, Charlie, Dorothy, Kevin and Jo—their newest addition to the group—for lunch, but since the fight he knows Cas doesn’t want him around, and it’d be unfair for Dean to claim a monopoly to the friend group so, whatever, Dean can just suffer through the cold of the alley and get over himself in solitary.

Dean finishes the sandwich and then pulls out his carton of cigarettes. He’s been smoking more since his and Cas’ fight because it’s the only way to get him to calm down. His hands are numb with cold when he pulls out the lighter, and it takes him three tries before the flame catches and he’s able to light the end.

The first two days out here had been brutal, because of the cold wind and below freezing temperatures, but Dean didn’t want to be inside where it was possible he’d run into anyone from his circle of friends and have to explain why he’s been avoiding them all. These two days have been easier. While not exactly much warmer, the wind has seemed to stop.

And then he hears footsteps approaching. He stands up straighter and looks to the ground, because he doesn’t want to have to talk to anyone right now,

The footsteps stop. “What are you doing here?” someone asks, and Dean feels his heart leap at the sound of the voice, _his_ voice, no matter the tone being what it is.

Dean looks up to see Castiel standing at the entrance of the alley, his backpack slung over one shoulder. He’s happy to see him and he’s pissed off, because Cas has been deep-freezing him out when they should be fucking _talking_ about this. This is honestly the first time in days that he’s seen him up close and not in the hallway or whatever, and it makes Dean’s heart leap up into his throat.

“Oh, speaking? We’re doing that now?” Dean says, and he means for it to sound angry but all it does is come out as broken and sad.

Cas stiffens, raises an eyebrow, and scoffs. “Just thought I’d ask,” he says breezily, and starts to leave.

 _Oh, fuck this_ , Dean thinks to himself. This is the first opportunity he’s had to speak with Cas for fucking _days_ , and he’s not letting him get away so easily.

“I meant what I said,” Dean calls after him. “About loving you.”

It makes Castiel stop for a few seconds, but his back is still turned to Dean. He hesitates for a few seconds before turning around and marching his way down the alley until there’s less than a foot left between them.

“You have no right to say that,” Castiel hisses at him. “ _No_ right, Dean. It won’t change the fact that you—that you did those things with those other guys.”

“I never said that it would,” Dean says coolly, putting the cigarette in his mouth. “I just wanted you to know.” He takes a drag and blows the smoke out above Cas’ head.

Castiel scrunches his nose, his eyes angry. “You’re an asshole,” he just says, and leaves.

When Cas turns the corner, Dean slumps against the wall and buries his head in his hands.

\---

Dean’s at the library the next day on his lunch period, sneaking bites of a sandwich from under the table he’s studying at because they don’t allow food in the library but he really needs to study for this damn chemistry test. There’s a practice test at the end of the chapter in his book which he’s pretty sure no one has taken advantage of _ever_ , but he’s desperate and has no study guide so fuck it.

Cohesion? Adhesion? Why do scientists have to make words sound so similar? Dean’s just about ready to say fuck it and do eenie-meenie-miney-mo between the multiple choices to pick the answer when someone drops their books on the other side of Dean’s table, startling him.

He looks up to find Charlie giving him the stare of death and he automatically shrinks away from her gaze.

“Hey, Charlie,” he mumbles.

“Oh, hi,” she says. “It’s nice to know that you can still acknowledge my existence, considering the past week.”

Dean hangs his head, pulling a hand down his face. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

She stares—more like _glares_ , actually—until she gets tired of Dean’s silence. “Care to explain?” she prompts.

He sighs, leaning back in his chair. “Cas and I got into a fight, and I didn’t want to bother him so I just stayed away from you guys because I figured that’s where he’d be.”

Her lip twists in a mix of frustration and confusion. “What’d you guys fight about?”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, flipping his book closed with his free hand. There’s no way he’s going to get studying done now, not with the distraction of Charlie and the thought of Cas. “It’s a long story, so if you’re gonna listen to it all, I suggest you sit yourself down.”

She sets her backpack on the floor and pulls out a chair, plopping herself down with a sigh. The sunlight makes her red hair look fiery, a distracting illusion that Dean can seem to pull his eyes away from, until she lifts her eyebrows expectantly and he clears his throat, trying to think of where to start.

“I’ve… I’ve been in love with Cas for a really long time, okay? Really long time,” Dean starts.

“Since when?” Charlie asks, quietly.

Dean thinks back. “I had this crush on him in seventh grade, but he didn’t know me. We weren’t even friends yet. And the day that we officially met, like a year later, I asked him what his name was, and he said ‘Castiel,’ and I said, ‘Oh, cool name,’ and he said ‘Thanks, I got it for my birthday.’” Dean smiles to himself at the memory. “So, since then.”

Charlie stares at him. “Jesus, you have it bad.”

He huffs a mirthful laugh, mostly to himself. “Yeah, well. Whatever, that’s not the point. The point is—do you remember the night that you called me from the movie theater?”

“Yes,” she says, not even hesitating.

“Well, okay, so that was a bad night. Like, a really bad night to end a really bad week. I went to that party, and it was… I never go to parties. I wanted to get drunk. I wanted to erase the memory of that week altogether, because my dad was being an asshole to me that week after I told him that Cas was my soulmate, and Dad never liked Cas because Cas was rich and we weren’t. He locked me out of the house, one night. Just being an asshole and all that. And Cas was… Cas hated me. God, he wouldn’t even look at me. And I was just so fucking pissed off at myself that I just wanted to get away from myself for a while, so, yeah.

“Anyway, went to the party, tried to find a distraction, and there was this guy. And he’s staring at me, and he’s got this look in his eyes, you know. Like, ‘come get it, big boy’ kind of look, and I just…” Dean crumples. He hates himself for this, but he forces himself to finish. “He goes upstairs, and I follow him, and he brings me into this bedroom and there’s a guy already in there, and we—yeah.”

The boy brought him up upstairs to a bedroom where another guy was already waiting. The boy was pressing his chest to Dean’s back and leaned up to whisper in his ear, wrapping his arms around Dean’s torso so he could start undoing his belt.

_This is a friend of mine, mind if his joins us?_

Dean shook his head, _No, I don’t mind_ , and the boy smiled against his skin, licking the shell of his ear and biting at his earlobe, which made Dean shiver.

_That’s just what I wanted to hear, baby._

Dean hangs his head and rubs his eyes to rid himself of the memory. “So, yeah, told Cas about this, and then I accidentally blurted out that I love him and he didn’t say it back. Who’d blame him, anyway? So, yep, that’s it, you can go tell everyone how big of an asshole I am,” he says in a rush, like getting the words out quicker will make it better. It doesn’t.

“You’re not an asshole, Dean,” Charlie sighs. “You just made bad choices under pressure. Everyone does it.”

“Yeah, but not everyone makes the ‘bad decision’ to go screw two other guys in one night when aware of their soulmate,” Dean says.

Charlie stares at him. “Dean, you weren’t even together,” she says. “Plus, your dad was being an asshole to you. You weren’t doing it to cheat on Cas, you were just…”

“Doing it?” Dean offers.

“Shut up,” Charlie says sharply, and he closes his mouth right away. “If it were up to me, neither of you would be at fault, but that’s not up to me to make that decision. If I talked to Cas and convinced him to talk to you, would you be okay with that?”

Dean thinks about it. “I’ll—I’ll do it myself, Charlie.” When she looks at him skeptically, Dean says, “I will. Really. I’ve been wanting to talk to him already. I’ll just get it over with.”

She smiles at him. “I’m rooting for you, buddy.”

She stands up, grabbing her bag. “You always mean well, Dean,” she says. “I know you do. Yeah, sometimes you make mistakes, but that doesn’t make you Lex Luthor to Cas’ Superman.”

“I know I’m not Lex Luthor,” Dean says, smiling up at her. “I’m Lois Lane.”

She pats him on the arm. “Sure you are, buddy.”

Dean grins at her as she leaves the library, and then opens his chemistry textbook again. He’s not studying, however, he’s thinking of a way to get Castiel to talk to him.

\---

Dean decides to talk to Cas on a Friday night. He’s pretty sure that Castiel gets home after Dean has gone to sleep, so Dean stays up until two hours past the time he usually goes to sleep and watches crappy TV, waiting for Castiel to walk in.

He’s almost fallen asleep at least three times and he’s about to almost nod off again when he hears the front door open and he jerks awake. He stands up and makes his way to the entrance, catching Cas as he’s shrugging off his coat and hanging it up next to the door.

Castiel looks up to see Dean there before averting his eyes. “You’re up late,” he comments.

Dean is surprised that Castiel actually speaks to him, but he tries to not let it show.

“We need to talk,” Dean says. “Now.”

“Actually, Dean, I’d very much rather—” Cas starts.

“Cas,” Dean says, sounding desperate. “Please.”

He stares at Dean, anger flashing across his face before he finally resigns. “Fine. Talk.”

Dean breathes in and out, gathering courage to say his words. He’s thought long and hard about what he’s going to say, and he’s chosen them carefully to mean exactly what he wants to say. He hopes he just doesn’t mess up.

“I’m sorry for what I did, Cas, I can’t convey it anymore than I already am,” Dean starts. “I don’t want to make excuses, but—”

He’s cut off by the sound of Castiel sighing in annoyance, and Dean’s heart just sort of breaks.

“Fuck it, you don’t care,” Dean spits at him, turning to walk down the hallway. Cas doesn’t care. Or, he doesn’t want to hear it. This is just taking up his precious time.

Before Dean gets all the way down the hallway however, he changes his mind, turning around. “You know what fucking gets me about this stupid fucking fight, though?” Dean asks. “That you hated me when I went off and did that, and you didn’t care what I did. If I had told you the very next day what I had did, you wouldn’t have cared. Why? Because not only were we just simply _not dating_ , you fucking _hated_ me!”

“And I had a fucking right, too, didn’t I?” Castiel screams back at him. “You _left_ me! Left me to be beaten up by those fucking assholes who’ve been tormenting me from day one!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that they were going to do that?” Dean asks, and then holds up a hand to stop Cas’ reply. “Stop. Just stop. Do you want to know why I left you? Because I went home that night after you brought me home from the station, I got into it with my dad, and my mom and Sam packed their fucking bags and left that night. They fucking left, and I told them that I wanted to stay behind to take care of my asshole deadbeat father who didn’t give a shit about me! You want to know why I slept with those guys? Because you hated me, and my father fucking locked me out of the goddamn apartment and treated me like I didn’t deserve to be the fucking dirt on the bottom of his shoes. All because I talked back to him, once. Once, Cas. And it was to defend you.”

Dean laughs bitterly. “Fucking irony at its best. And, you know, when I said it was a shitty week, I meant that it was the most miserable I’d felt in about two years. It was really fucking shitty. I was fucking vulnerable, I was fucking raw, and I was tired and looking for a fight or a fuck or just _any_ way to blow off steam.

“So you know what? Yeah, I slept with those guys. I’m fucking sorry, and I fucking mean it. At the time I was okay with it, but afterwards, I felt like shit, and I fucking hated myself. But _you_ weren’t about to sleep with me, you were about to fucking _look_ at me, and maybe I’m just a fucking human being that wanted to feel _wanted_ by someone for once, because the two people in the world that should have fucking cared most about me in the world couldn’t have cared less if I was hit by a bus or on a fucking bender or whatever the fuck else.

“So, sorry if that fucking offends you,” Dean continues, but he sounds more subdued now, his voice soft and breaking. “But, again, we weren’t dating, we weren’t friends, we weren’t together at the time it happened, it was a shitty week, it was one time, won’t happen again, and, as always, I’m sorry.” Saying the two words break him, and suddenly it’s like a dam has broken, and he can’t stop saying it. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, Cas, you don’t even know. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Cas, I—”

Castiel is staring at him until he finally just grabs Dean and pulls him into an embrace, tightening his arms around him and whispering into his ear, trying to soothe Dean as he keeps mumbling apologies into the crook of Cas’ neck.

“It’s okay, Dean, I forgive you, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, whole thing’s just a fucking mess, I’m sorry, it’s okay…”

His fucking monologue has exhausted him; he doesn’t think he’s said so many words at once _ever_. He keeps his head buried in Cas’ neck, just resting on the juncture between Cas’ neck and his shoulder, pulling in damp breaths. Cas sways them lightly from side-to-side and continues to speak lowly in his ear.

“I’m sorry, Dean… I overreacted. Things were going so great that I just… I don’t know. I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, and I just freaked out.” He chuckles humorlessly in Dean’s ear. “Which is an understatement, and a poor excuse. I’m sorry for the pain I’ve caused you, Dean. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

Dean tightens his hold on Castiel’s shirt, hopes to God Cas will keep his promise, and doesn’t let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sing It Out.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RJXZkrZPGpU)


	22. Hallelujah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter! I also apologize for all the angst lately... I promise that there's going to be a happy ending, though!

Castiel tries his hardest to make it up to Dean. Cas thinks he’s being subtle, though, and Dean can’t burst his bubble yet. Cas buys or makes him lunch, helps him with his homework, gives him control over the TV. He’s brought home pie for dessert twice in one week. Dean can’t deny that he likes the treatment.

He assumes that Cas will think himself done and that things will go back to normal. They don’t, and Cas just keeps trying harder.

So when Dean comes home one night and finds Castiel making a giant, three-course dinner for “no reason,” as he says, Dean has to talk to him.

“Cas,” Dean says, walking into the kitchen and noticing the tossed salad, cooling pie (made from scratch, God bless him), and currently cooking spaghetti. The small little radio in the kitchen plays static just as loudly as it plays the classical music that Cas likes for it to play when he cooks.

“Mmm?” Cas hums, stirring the noodles.

“What are you doing?” Dean asks.

Castiel looks up at him. “Making spaghetti?” he replies.

“No, I mean,” Dean starts, and then sighs. “The way you’ve been treating me this past week. You’re being… way too nice to me.”

Castiel tilts his head to one side. “You don’t want me to be nice to you? I could easily fix that, if you’d like,” his tone is light and teasing, but with an underlying tone of nervousness.

“Cas,” Dean reprimands, and Castiel looks away. “Cas,” Dean tries again, approaching him and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Is this about the fight? You don’t have to keep making it up to me. Forgive and forget, man.”

He stills for a second before giving a little scoff and turning off the stove, moving the noodles to the sink to strain them. “I’m not—” Castiel starts.

“Cas,” Dean cuts off. “Don’t. I know you. And I appreciate it, I really do, but—”

“Let me do this,” Castiel insists suddenly, desperation coloring his tone. “Please.”

When Dean doesn’t answer, Cas sighs and dumps the noodles back into the pot, placing them on the kitchen counter.

“Dean, you,” he starts. “You’ve had a hard life. I know that. Compared to you, my struggles are… trivial.” He unconsciously rubs at his marks and the scars that corrupt them, trying to find the words. “I lost my mother, but I had years to prepare for her death. While I too have suffered… loss… pain… it seems only like a wave tossed in the ocean of your troubles. I have it easy, and I just… wanted to make it easy for you, too. Me getting angry with you, after everything… I was so angry at myself for allowing such a petty thing get me unhinged the way it did. You deserve so much more, so much better… than me.”

Dean stares at him. “Cas, why would you think that?”

Castiel looks down, looking like a scolded child. “I apologize.”

“No,” Dean says, stepping forward to take Castiel in his arms. “Don’t ever think that you aren’t good enough because you’ve had it ‘easy,’ Cas. Just because what we went through is different doesn’t mean that you don’t count. You do.”

Dean pulls back, hands on Cas’ shoulders. “This will be the last thing that you can make up for me,” he allows. “But after that, we’ll go back to normal. Okay?”

“Yes,” Cas agrees amiably, smile wavering.

“Is dinner ready?” Dean asks, smiling, trying to lighten the mood.

“No, I have to put the garlic bread in,” Castiel says, smiling a little. “And then we can eat. You can choose the station if you’d like to stay in here with me,” he adds, nodding towards the radio.

The radio is small and old and can play either CDs or cassette tapes. It sits next to a small stack of CDs and two or three cassettes.

Dean keeps messing with the radio, trying to find a station he likes. Cas mostly just keeps it on classical and contemporary, but Dean is hoping is looking for something different. He finally gives up and starts rifling through the CD collection, finding an artist he recognizes. He pops open the player and snaps the CD in place, skipping to song number six.

A slow guitar riff fills the companionable silence that had fallen over the two of them. Cas stands from where he has just inserted the garlic bread into the oven and smiles at Dean, recognizing the song.

“I knew you’d choose this one,” he says.

Dean snorts. “Yeah, right.” He takes a few steps until he’s in Cas’ personal space, grabbing Cas’ arms and placing them around his neck, and then putting his own arms on Cas’ waist.

“What are you doing?” Cas asks, smiling widely now.

“What does it look like, Cas? I’m teaching you how to dance,” he replies.

Cas snorts. “I don’t need to learn how to dance,” he says.

“Good, then maybe you can teach me, because I have no fucking idea,” Dean says, grinning. Cas chuckles and puts his head on Dean’s shoulder, listening to the lyrics as they sway together, turning in a slow circle in the middle of the kitchen.  


 _She tied you to her kitchen chair_  
 _She broke your throne, and she cut your hair  
_ _And from your lips she drew the “Hallelujah…”_

  
“You’re a natural,” Castiel whispers.

“Flattery doesn’t work on me, Shurley,” Dean replies.

“Yes it does, it fuels you,” Cas retorts, and it sends a wave of silent, shaking laughter through Dean.

As they keep listening to the lyrics of the song, Castiel starts gripping Dean tighter and tighter, and Dean’s afraid that maybe the song is upsetting Cas somehow, but doesn’t ask. If Cas needed it to be turned off, he’d say something, but it doesn’t stop Dean from nudging his thumbs under Cas’ shirt and rubbing small circles into the skin.

This is the most intimate they’ve been, really. Dean has been holding himself back for a while, and getting to touch the skin of Cas’ middle is honestly a thrill. Cas shivers at the contact and tugs Dean closer to him. Dean really, really wants to tell Cas that he loves him, needs to let him know, but he doesn’t want to end up scaring him off or making him uncomfortable, but here, so close together, it almost seems inevitable.  


_I've seen your flag on the marble arch_   
_And love is not a victory march  
It's a cold and it's a broken “Hallelujah…”_

_Hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah, hallelujah…_

  
“I love you,” Dean says in Cas’ ear, unable to stop himself. “I get it if you can’t say it back yet, but—”

Cas holds Dean tighter against him, burying his face into Dean’s neck. “No, no, Dean,” he says, and it dawns on Dean that the reason Castiel is shaking is because he’s sobbing against his shirt, tears soaking into the fabric, and the last time he’d seen Cas cry was when he was drunk and told Dean about what Alastair did to him, and the only time before that was years ago, when Cas told Dean what had happened to his mother, and Dean starts to panic, until he hears Castiel speak again.

He sucks in a breath like he’s just come up for air, gasping and desperate, tears streaming down his face. “I love you, too, Dean, I love you so much.”

Dean holds Cas to him, letting him cry against his shirt, and when the mark acts up, burning a new line across his skin, he barely even feels the pain.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel sobs. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“It’s okay, Cas,” Dean says softly, carding his hands through his hair. “It’s okay. I understand.”

“I love you,” Cas repeats. “So much.” He laughs thickly, tears obscuring his voice. “It’s kind of ridiculous how much, actually.”

“I love you, too,” Dean says again.

Dean pulls back to look at boyfriend’s face, brushing away tears. “It’s okay,” Dean whispers, and then leans in to kiss him, slowly and languidly, trying to calm him.

Castiel melts against him, hands moving up to card through his short hair. He kisses Dean back, tongue and lips, hands skimming over clothes, fingers digging into shoulders, biceps, as “Hallelujah” fades slowly away in the background.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Hallelujah.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y8AWFf7EAc4)


	23. Angel of Small Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short notice, but yeah, I'm ending this fic pretty soon, maybe in the next couple of days. I'm expecting the next chapter to be a brief epilogue and that'll be it. But, I'm going to thank you all properly at the end, so I'll hold my sentiments until then.  
> And we're also back to Cas' POV! How fun is that?

\---

**PART THREE**

\---

Dean’s father is dead, and while Castiel can’t help but feel worried for his soulmate, he also can’t help but feel a little relieved that he’s gone. He knows how much John hurt him, and he just hopes that Dean won’t blame himself.

Which he seems to be doing. It’s a surprising deviation from the norm. Usually Dean would be blaming himself for this, calling himself a murderer, etc., but instead he’s just sitting dutifully by Castiel’s side as the funeral service continues on. Castiel laces their fingers together and squeezes Dean’s hand.

The service ends and they drive to the cemetery to bury John. Dean stays longer than the others, who leave to go to the reception. He tells Castiel exactly how he feels, which isn’t too different from what Castiel feels about John. Only then does Dean cry.

Castiel pulls him into his arms and strokes his hair until the sobbing subsides.

\---

When Dean tells Castiel that he loves him, it’s in the middle of a fight.

Castiel couldn’t honestly care less about the timing. It’s just the actual _words_.

_I love you, Castiel._

Cas doesn’t doubt for a second that Dean means it. He knows Dean is being sincere. The look on his face, the tone of his voice, it all adds up.

And Castiel… he loves him too. But for some reason, he can’t say it.

And, no, he’s angry at Dean. He’s been waiting for this, the other shoe to drop. For the catch. Things had been going so well, too well, and given their history, given Castiel’s fucking _life_ , something like this was bound to come up.

So instead of saying it back, Castiel turns around and heads to his room, slamming the door.

\---

John’s death has affected Castiel more than it has Dean, it seems.

Dean had been crying in the cemetery, saying, _Oh, shit. I don’t have a dad anymore_.

Castiel’s first thought had been to say, _Yeah, neither do I,_ and it surprised him. He has a father, of course he does. That’s the reason why his house is looks like something from _MTV Cribs_. That’s the reason why they aren’t sleeping in a car anymore while Crowley throws the shit from their old apartment on the sidewalk. That’s the reason why anything good has happened to him, the reason why they were allowed to pay his mother’s hospital bills so long.

But he just doesn’t feel like he has a father. Chuck has been gone for months now, leaving Castiel to fend for himself. He might as well be dead. Fuck, has he even called? Sent a letter?

Castiel runs his hands nervously through his hair. He thought he’d been okay with this. He thought he had a good relationship with his father. Well, not _good,_ but at least not _bad._

His room has become more confining since the funeral, and he just wants to get out of this place. He hates this house.

\---

“I meant what I said,” Dean calls after Castiel. “About loving you.”

Cas freezes. His breath is smoky in the frigid air and the wind bites at his exposed skin.

His mind races, shouting out a million thoughts at once, the forefront thought being that he loves Dean too, so much, but that he can’t tell him that yet because Dean will just leave if Cas tells him so. Maybe not as a direct reaction, but he will eventually. That’s how it’s been with his parents, his friends. Why not his soulmate too? That’s the catch, isn’t it?

Part of his knows that it’s already too late. The one issue with soulmates is how deeply you fall in love with them. Everything with Dean is just _more_ , more intense, more heartwrenching, more beautiful. Multiplied by a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand. If Dean hurts him again, Cas isn’t sure he’ll be able to take it.

Castiel turns around and marches right back up to Dean Winchester and gets in his face.

“You have no right to say that,” Castiel hisses at him. “ _No_ right, Dean. It won’t change the fact that you—that you did those things with those other guys.”

“I never said that it would,” Dean says neutrally, putting the cigarette in his mouth. “I just wanted you to know.” He takes a drag and exhales the smoke above Castiel’s head, the smell of it sharp and sour.

Castiel feels his eye twitch. “You’re an asshole,” he says simply, and storms away.

\---

As soon as he walks in, he knows there’s something different about tonight.

The lights are on, as well as the TV, so he’s assuming that Dean’s awake. He’s been coming in later to avoid making contact with Dean, but Dean was bound to catch on sooner or later.

“You’re up late,” Cas says to him, shedding his coat.

There’s a flash of surprise across Dean’s face that disappears quickly.

“We need to talk,” Dean says, recovering. “Now.”

“Actually, Dean, I’d very much rather—” Cas starts.

“Cas,” Dean says, sounding desperate. “Please.”

Annoyance flares inside of Castiel for a split second before resignation takes its place. “Fine. Talk,” he says bluntly.

\---

 

 

 

> ** ONE MONTH LATER **

After Dean tells Cas to stop making it up to him, things go relatively back to normal. He studies his marks and realizes that the newly-added presence of the lines haven’t covered the scars or fixed his marks. The lines are slightly corrupted, broken in a few places, but Castiel realizes then that he doesn’t mind anymore.

He told Dean that he loves him. Everything feels okay now, like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. All the insecurities, all the weird stuff about himself that he had been uncomfortable with before he’s become okay with now; hell, he could even say he _treasures_ them.

Everything is good. Well, mostly good.

Cas’ father came home one night after being absent for nearly a month without contact. Castiel confronted him on this and there had been a one-sided argument in which Castiel argued and Chuck had stood there, subdued. After their fight, Chuck had told Cas that he was leaving in a week to go on another tour, this one in Canada and then in Europe. He asked Castiel if he wanted to come with him, which Castiel had declined. Chuck went to bed. Cas went to sleep in Dean’s room.

“It’s not like he does anything bad to me,” Castiel whispers into the dark room, Dean’s arm encircling him. “He just doesn’t do anything.”

Dean kisses the top of his head. “Parents are dicks,” he says simply, and there’s no better way that Cas could put it.

\---

Castiel waits by the Impala for Dean to get back. They’d packed up all their stuff and were already at the car when Dean realize that he left his keys in his lockers and told Cas to wait for him to get back. Everyone has already mostly left, except for the few stragglers that wander around with friends or are staying afterwards for sports.

He holds his jacket in hands, folded, because it’s a bit warmer than usual for late February, leaning against the passenger door of the car. He looks around, noticing how the trees are starting to sprout leaves and the snow is melting.

“Heya, Shurley,” says a voice, and it makes Castiel jump. He turns to see that Alastair is standing close to him, his hand on the hood of Dean’s car as if he owns it. Brady and Jackson are missing from his side today. It makes him seem significantly smaller.

Castiel doesn’t answer him. Just looks him up and down and turns away.

“Where’s your boyfriend, Shurley?” he says insensitively.

“Getting his keys,” Castiel says levelly. “Where are yours?”

Alastair’s smirk falters a bit before returning. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”

“No, I guess not,” Castiel says. This display is honestly more annoying than it is intimidating, and he wishes Dean would hurry up and rescue him from this exchange.

“All that matters is who’s here right now,” he says, taking a step forward and wrapping his fingers around Cas’ upper arm, just above his elbow.

The touch surprises him and sends a flush of anger throughout him. “Don’t touch me,” Castiel growls at him, and snatches his arm away.

“Why? Didn’t like last time?” he purrs, his hand circling around Cas’ wrist.

Castiel grits his teeth, steps on Alastair’s foot and shoves him backwards so he falls over. Alastair’s arms windmill a few times before he falls on his ass, and Cas is already half-running, half-walking towards the school so he can find Dean, but a hand catches him and turns him around, and then there’s a fist connecting with his jaw and his nose and it throws stars into his vision.

“You’re not getting away from me that easily, you little bitch,” Alastair growls into his ear.

Castiel looks up, blood dripping from his nose down his chin, and he smirks. “Alastair, didn’t anyone teach you that just because your soulmate is your own _hand_ doesn't mean you have to take it out on—”

Alastair lands a blow to Cas’s stomach, and it hurts so fucking much that Cas is afraid he’s going to throw up, but he doesn’t, and it’s a miracle. He collapses to the ground, coughing, the rough pavement of the parking lot scraping his hands.

“Who told you?” Alastair growls at him, and he’s definitely pissed off now, not just teasing, not just trying to fuck with him to get a rise out of him but actually very, very angry now. He grabs Castiel’s shirt, hauling him into a standing position.

Cas huffs. “Don’ know what you’re talking abou’,” Cas slurs, his bloody nose making it hard to be coherent.

“Like hell you don’t,” Alastair growls, taking one hand off his shirt to grip Cas’ hair, forcing his head up. “Who the fuck told you I don’t have a soulmate?”

“You don’…?” Of all the sentences that Cas has heard in his life, the words “don’t” and “have” and “soulmate” have never been strung together in the same phrase outside of the science classroom when they talk about genetics and evolution. It’s very, very rare to find someone that was born without their marks, rarer than your soulmate actually being the best friend you’ve known for years.

Alastair looks at him, looks at him for a long time, until a realization dawns behind his yellowish eyes. “Shit,” he mutters. “You didn’t actually…”

“Hey!” says a voice, and they both turn in time to see Dean marching towards them, purposefulness in his stride. “Get your filthy hands off of him!”

Alastair drops Cas and starts running away like a coward, and Cas is partly amazed that he didn’t stay behind just to fight with Dean, because there’s a chance that he could have won.

“Shit,” Dean says, kneeling down in front of Cas survey his wounds. “Are you okay?”

“‘m fine,” Castiel says, rolling his eyes. “Why wouldn’ I be?”

His bloody nose is really starting to become a nuisance. He’s also feeling light-headed, and tells Dean as much.

Dean lifts Castiel up so that he can lean on Dean as they make their way back to his car.

“What happened?” Dean asks.

Castiel smirks. “I called Alastair a chronic masturbator,” he giggles.

Dean shakes his head, opening the passenger door and dropping Cas down gently on the seat.

“Try to not get blood on my seats,” Dean says, jokingly. Half-jokingly.

“Yesiree, no blood on the seats,” Castiel agrees, and then promptly passes out on the drive home.

\---

Dean wakes him up when they get home.

“You alright?” Dean asks, studying his face. “You think we should take you to the doctor?”

Castiel looks at him. He has such nice freckles, it makes him look boyish. “No, I don’t believe I have a concussion or any broken bones. Just a wounded self-esteem.”

Dean smiles at him softly. “Well, I’m sure they’ve got pills for that, too,” he says. “Think you can walk into the house by yourself?”

Castiel nods. “I think so. The dizziness seems to have passed.”

He opens the door and pushes himself off the seat, going slow just in case he collapses again. He doesn’t, however, and he makes it inside, and then Dean is grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards the kitchen.

“Let’s patch you up,” he says by way of explanation. Arriving in the kitchen, Cas hops up on the counter as Dean gets the first-aid kit from medicine cabinet.

“Take your shirt off and put it in the sink,” Dean instructs. “We’ll try to wash it out later.”

Cas lifts his arms and sheds his shirt, throwing it in the sink and running some cold water over it. The blood hadn’t completely dried, so he was pretty sure that the shirt could be saved.

Dean drizzles hydrogen peroxide on a paper towel and starts cleaning Cas’ cuts. He sort of feels like a child, watching an adult clean a scraped knee or put a band-aid over a cut. Cas tries not to hiss as Dean dabs his scraped skin with hydrogen peroxide and then cleans his face with a damp cloth, gently rubbing at the dried blood beneath his nose, making sure that he doesn’t agitate the bruise that’s definitely forming there.

“Dean… he doesn’t have marks,” Cas says, breaking the thick silence that had fallen over them. “It was just something I said to defend myself. I didn’t know it was true.”

“What?” Dean asks, surprised.

“Alastair,” Castiel says. “No marks. He must’ve been born without them.”

“That’s… wow,” Dean says, amazed.

“I know,” Castiel says, nodding.

“I guess that provokes a question,” Dean says, smirking. “Is he such an asshole because he doesn’t have a soulmate, or does he not have a soulmate because he’s such an asshole?”

“Dean,” Castiel scolds.

“What?” Dean says defensively. “It explains his actions, but it doesn’t excuse them. Especially after what he did to you, Cas. You didn’t deserve that, and he didn’t have the right to take it away from you.”

And he’s right, Castiel knows that, but he can’t help but feel a little sorry for Alastair.

Dean goes and grabs some thin, white bandages to protect Cas’ hand, focusing on wrapping Cas’ hurt palm. Cas hisses when Dean pulls a little too tightly on the bandages, tying them off. He looks up and smirks. “If you can’t handle some scraped skin, maybe you ought to stay out of trouble, angel,” Dean says cheekily.

“Maybe I should stay away from you, then,” Castiel says bluntly.

Dean’s eyes are glinting with mischief when he looks back up to meet Cas’ stare, and suddenly Cas can feel the tension move up a few notches. He’s now aware of their close proximity, how Dean’s hand holds Cas’ even though the bandages are wrapped and tied off.

He waits for Dean to make a move, and then decides that’s so stupid when he could do it himself, and moves his hand up to cup the back of Dean’s skull so that he can pull him into a kiss.

Things are different. Castiel can feel it, and instead of being afraid of it, he’s running right at it. He fists his hands into Dean’s shirt, trying to eliminate any millimeter of space between them.

Dean lets out a solid moan, and while Cas was kind of expecting it, he still pulls back to study Dean’s face. The tension in the room has gone from zero to one hundred in less than ten minutes and it’s giving Cas whiplash.

“You want to…?” Castiel asks.

“Yes,” Dean says—gasps, really. “I want to.”

Dean dives back in, attacking his skin with hungry presses of his lips and scrapes of his teeth. Castiel gasps as Dean starts moving lower, sucking a mark on his collarbone and laving the hurt over with his tongue.

Dean's palm falls from the side of Cas’ face to his thigh. He squeezes once before moving to palm over the hardening bulge in Castiel’s jeans. Cas sucks in a breath through his teeth, nails scraping accidentally against Dean’s scalp.

“We,” Castiel gasps, Dean moving to kiss his neck exactly right. “We should move this too the bedroom,” he finishes.

“Too far,” Dean says, kissing the spot under Cas’ ear.

“Dean,” Cas says, his voice tapering off into a whine. “I’m not having sex with you in the kitchen.”

Dean sighs dramatically, like moving twenty feet to a bedroom is such a big deal. But then he leans forward and presses his lips to Cas’ quickly, before pulling away and helping him off the counter.

Dean pushes Castiel down onto the bed gently, making quick work of Cas’ jeans and boxers and getting rid of his own clothes as quickly as he can, climbing on top of Castiel when he is completely naked. Cas is baffled by Dean’s urgency, but his eagerness makes Castiel feel wanted—he pulls Dean down for another kiss.

It’s nothing like Castiel had thought it would be. It’s like a slow-burning flame, intense and hot. Small gasps fall from Cas’ lips, praise and encouragement falling from Dean’s as he opens Cas up with his tongue and fingers.

When Dean finally sinks inside of him, they both let out what feels like a sigh of relief. Suddenly the urgency from earlier is gone, replaced by something more intimate. They’re not in a hurry, or a rush, and Dean wants to take his time with Castiel, it seems. Wants to make him feel good.

They move together as if they’ve always done this. The heat builds slowly, intensely. Castiel’s never felt anything like it.

“You feel so good,” Dean breathes. His thrusts are measured and consistent, the sweat on their bodies making everything slick where they touch. “Never realized how good this would feel. With you.”

Castiel digs his fingers into Dean’s back, trying to hold on. “Fuck,” he whimpers. It’s overwhelming, the pleasure, the feeling of Dean inside him. This is as close as two people can possibly get. This is as close as he can get to Dean, and that’s thrilling to him.

Cas slides his legs up so that his ankles hook together around Dean’s back, heels digging into his spine. “Please,” Castiel says, though he’s not sure what he’s asking for.

“I got you, baby,” Dean whispers. “Don’t worry.”

It’s a break from Dean’s usual bravado. Every touch from Dean is loving and lingering, not harsh or punishing. Castiel always thought that Dean would take what he wanted when they finally had sex, and there’s no doubt that that idea turned Cas on a little. He never expected this—the closeness, the caresses, the quiet moans…

New Year’s Eve, Castiel remembers want to fuck Dean. He’s so glad they waited for this—because what would have happened then would have just been mindless fucking. This is different from that.

The bed creaks quietly with their movements. The air is filled with heavy panting and the occasional moan, usually from Cas.

Castiel can feel himself on the precipice, just needs that final push to get him there. He claws helplessly at Dean’s back, whining, trying to get him to understand. Dean pulls back a little, making it so they aren't glued together chest-to-chest, and tilts Cas’ hips up and starts thrusting faster.

“Dean,” Castiel moans quietly. “Ah, fuck.”

“I’ve got you,” Dean keeps repeating softly. “I’ve got you. C’mon, sweetheart—”

Castiel takes his own cock and starts stroking, and it takes little to push him over the edge. Dean comes quickly after him, and Castiel can feel that warm wetness filling him up. He moans quietly as he feels Dean’s cock pulse inside him.

Dean collapses against Cas’ chest, lacing their fingers together as the burn from the tattoo burns a new line across their arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Angel of Small Death and the Codeine Scene.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-bmp4QWzHak)


	24. You Can't Always Get What You Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I really just want to thank you all for putting up with me these past seven months as I wrote this. It takes a lot of patience to read a work in progress, and I had such loyal followers to this story that I'm just so emotional. UGH.  
> It's been such a wild ride writing this. I had so many firsts - first multi-chapter fic, first smut scene (heh), first novel-length work (if NaNoWriMo doesn't lie), etc. With every comment, every kudos, and every bookmark, I just become happier and happier that I decided to turn what was supposed to be a one-shot into a full-blown multi-chapter work. You guys hold a special place in my heart. I love you all so much and I'm so thankful for you, truly. Thank you all so so much. ♥

**epilogue**

\---

Castiel throws the last bag into the back seat of the Impala and shuts the door.

It’s mid-June. The sky is blue and the horizon is clear, and Castiel is more than ready to get on the road. Since he suggested that Dean and he take a road trip to find his mother and Sam back in December, he’s been waiting for this. Last week he finally convinced Dean to forget his worries and go look for his family. He’s not sure where they are, but he has a pretty good idea that they’re with his grandparents down south. And if not, then, well. It’d be an adventure to find them.

“All packed up?” Dean asks as he emerges from the house, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder.

“All good,” Castiel says. Dean told him to not make a list to see if he had everything, so of course Castiel did, and everything checks out from his standpoint, but he’s sure that they’ll have to turn around for at least one thing that Dean forgot.

“Awesome,” Dean says, smiling. He opens the trunk and throws his duffle in there before walking around to his door and sliding inside the car. Castiel gets in next to him. Dean turns the key and starts the engine, and they’re off.

“Put some music in babe, would you?” Dean suggests. Cas rifles around through his collection of tapes before settling on a Led Zeppelin mix tape, pushing it into the tape deck.

Dean reaches across the seat and puts his hand on Castiel’s knee, sliding it up to rest on his thigh and leaving it there, a promise for what will come later. Castiel rolls down his window as the first notes of “Ramble On” fill the spaces around them.

\---

Castiel waits as Dean’s breathing steadies. He looks at their entwined hands, stroking Dean’s forefinger with his thumb, the sweat on their skin making the slide easy.

They’re lying in a motel bed somewhere just outside of Kansas City. The AC is on, full blast, blowing cold air over their feverish skin.

“I didn’t know you remembered New Year’s,” Dean whispers after a while, jokingly. “But shit, I’m glad you were sober enough to remember what you wanted to do to me.”

Cas huffs a laugh. “Yes. I remembered kissing you and what I told you. And what you said to me,” he adds. He kisses Dean softly on his mouth, pulling away quickly. “I appreciate that. That you didn’t… you know.”

Dean smiles and pulls Cas in for another kiss. He takes no time to deepen it, pushing his tongue into his mouth and kissing him deeply. Cas moans softly into his mouth as Dean wraps his arms around him and rolls them over so that Dean lies on top, hands wandering. He presses a hand to the back of Cas’ neck and pulls him in, Cas’ hands going to hold Dean’s head in place.

When they finally pull away, Dean’s eyes go automatically to the marks on Cas’ arms. He takes his right arm and kisses the dots, tracing the lines with his tongue. It makes Castiel shiver.

It’s quiet for a second while Dean stares at the scars there, worry suddenly clouding his eyes. “I’m sorry,” Dean says, swiping a thumb over his forearm, his voice quiet. “That I wasn’t there.”

The words hit Castiel like a freight train. His heart drops into his stomach, the old familiar sadness filling its place. It was stupid of him to think that just because Dean hadn’t blamed himself for his father’s death that he would stop blaming himself altogether when things weren’t his fault. Maybe that’s Castiel’s fault, for being angry that Dean had cut things off with him so cleanly, all those years ago.

Was he justified? Maybe. But it was the past, and Dean is sorry now, suffering under the weight of his guilt, even after Castiel had forgiven him.

Maybe Cas hadn’t done this, place the guilt so heavily on his shoulders. Maybe this was just how Dean was, given his life. Whatever the circumstances, it was Cas’ job to make it better now.

“No,” Castiel says, holding up his hand to cover Dean’s, which was resting gently on Cas’ skin. “It’s fine. You were there, the second time around. That’s all that matters.”

“Yeah, but if I hadn’t been so stupid and forgotten my damn keys I wouldn’t have had to—” he starts, but that’s as far as he gets.

“You saved me,” Castiel murmurs, leaning in and kissing his cheek, his nose, the corner of his mouth. “In every way possible, you’ve saved me.”

“Cas,” Dean breathes.

“You’re so good,” Castiel murmurs against his lips. “So good for me.”

“Don’t, Cas,” Dean says, and his voice almost sounds like a warning, but Cas knows Dean better than that. He knows the effect that his words are having, how much Dean needs to hear them, and how much Castiel needs to let him know. Because Dean needs this. He _needs_ to hear this, needs to know this, needs to believe it.

“How can you say that when—” Dean says, his voice sounding strained. “You literally have scars on you, Cas, those are _my_ fault, Cas, _my_ fucking—”

“I love you,” Castiel says softly, and it looks like Dean is actually breaking, the cracks in his facade finally showing and growing wider and wider until he’s pulled apart completely.

“Please,” Dean says, and it almost sounds like he’s actually in pain, but Castiel only clutches him closer. “Cas. I’m broken, I only know how to be broken, please don’t—”

“I love you, so much,” Castiel says, “and you’re perfect for me.”

Dean finally shatters, and the tears spill over. He doesn’t sob loudly, instead just shakes quietly as Cas wraps his arms around him and holds him close, waiting for the tears to subside.

“I’m not what you wanted,” Dean says, his smile wavery. “I did that to you. I can’t… I…”

“No, you weren’t,” Castiel agrees. “But you were what I needed. And that is _so_ much better. You’ve changed me so much, Dean.”

It’s not even an exaggeration, either. Being with Dean has changed him, and being with Castiel has changed Dean. For the better.

 

_end_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [You Can't Always Get What You Want.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OagFIQMs1tw)
> 
> UPDATE 1/12/2017:
> 
> Hey there,  
> You may have noticed that I deleted the sequel to this work, Every City Was A Gift. If you want a copy of the HTML, I have it. Leave a comment and I'll email it to you.   
> If you don't care about explanations, just skip to the end. But anyone dying for the whole story, stay tuned.   
> YGWYN was written at a low moment in my life; I was clinically depressed but undiagnosed and untreated, I was just starting life in high school, I had family troubles and the like. YGWYN was an outlet to my emotions, and based partly in reality. Those feelings that you've read in the voices of other characters are in fact my own. I loved writing YGWYN because, to me, it was a story of two people who had never properly been loved before learning how to love each other. That's why the story ends on an open-ended note; that's why there are so many unanswered questions: because the story wasn't about Dean or Cas, not really. Not to me, at least. I'd had requests to keep writing the sequel but it's like pulling teeth: it completely writes over the idea of the first story, and frankly, it's not written well. I love my readers, and I'm happy I have you, but a sequel just isn't in the cards. It doesn't feel right to give an unnecessary ending to this work. I hope you all understand and that I don't sound like a pompous asshole to you. 
> 
> All the best.  
> -castielsdemons


End file.
